The Forgotten Lands of Arda
by Sleepwalking Dreamer
Summary: Year 135 of the Fourth Age. Umbar wages war against her neighbors, while Gondor sits alone in wary peace. Three nations neglected by history must unite with Gondor against Umbar lest all the world fall into chaos.
1. Relevant Information

**The Forgotten Lands of Arda**

_By: Sleepwalking-Dreamer _

__

_A Lord of the Rings Fan Fiction_

DISCLAIMERS:

_The Silmarillion, The Lord of the Rings_ and everything related to them © J.R.R. Tolkien

Anna Nefertari, Wei Ting Kuoh, Magtìr Teididh, Xin Teni, Babaylan Sinag-Tala, and Mié Djeserit © Sleepwalking Dreamer

Everything else © respective owners

CONCERNING HISTORICAL AND CULTURAL ACCURACY:

I doubt if everything about this fan fiction piece is accurate to the history and culture of the peoples I have blatantly imitated here. I hope that you will permit me - as many have, no doubt, permitted Tolkien - to take some liberties with these cultures and play around with them. As many of those knowledgeable of Tolkien's work will know, he took bits and pieces from other cultures and used them as the basis for Middle-Earth and everything that took place in and beyond it. I hope, then, that you readers will permit me to do the same with the cultures I have borrowed from.

TIMELINE:

This story takes place in the year 135 of the Fourth Age, during the reign of Eldarion, son of Aragorn Elessar and Arwen Undómiel. It occurs fifteen years after the death of Aragorn and Arwen, which occurred in the year 120 of the Fourth Age. I am assuming that Eldarion, having already come of age by this time would have immediately taken the throne after his parents' death, or even before Arwen died.

THANK YOU TO THE FOLLOWING:

The people of The Philippine Tolkien Society (TPTS) for providing me with sources that went into the building of the culture of the Ma'yi people  
  
The anthropologists, archeologists, and the rest of their long-suffering ilk, who went out of their way to make websites on their studies that I read and analyzed, and used to build the cultures mentioned here  
  
The website Suikosource.com, for the list of the names of the Stars of Destiny from the _Shui Hu Zhuan_ and their equivalent meanings in English

TEASER:

The threat of war hangs upon Gondor as thickly as a cloud. The people of Umbar have bitterly rued their loss at the hands of Aragorn Elessar, and they wish to avenge their loss by waging another war. Those at the head of the war seek powers that should never be touched by the hands of the unclean of heart…yet they are willing to do anything to get that power, even if it means dragging all of Middle-Earth back into the depths of chaos.

* * *

**_Relevant Information_**

**Dramatis Personae**

_Anna Nefertari (20)_ - She is the daughter of Nephthys Nefertari and a Wizard from the North. She is a skilled dowser and water sorceress, talents that are very uncommon yet vital among her people. Her most treasured possessions are her father's staff and her mother's wedding ring.

_Wei Ting Kuoh (25)_ - She is a Swordhand [1] of the Kingdom of Rûmenyen [2]. She has some skill as a Fire mage, but is more talented with and prefers the blade and fighting arts.

_Magtìr Teididh (35) - _He is a Guard of the Shield [3] of the Kingdom of Rûmenyen. He is both an excellent warrior and a powerful Earth mage, but he prefers the scholarly life and rarely ever goes out of his home unless necessary or summoned.

_Babaylan Sinag-Tala (20) - _She is the leader and head priestess of Ma'yi [4]. She is a good warrior as well as a cunning sailor and swimmer, and is a friend of Mié Djeserit.

_Mié Djeserit (20) - _She is a priestess of Sakhmet [5], from Yaminah [6], capital city of Khemet [7]. She is a warrior-priestess, and is well versed in fire sorcery. She is also a close friend of Anna's.

_Xin Teni (17) - _He is the Emperor of Rûmenyen, and ascended the throne when he was twelve years old – the youngest ever to do so in the history of his country. His father was the Emperor Chu Ling, and his mother was the Lady Tairis – a daughter of one of the chieftains of the Doran, the Horsemasters of Rûmenyen. Magtìr Teididh was his guardian and teacher during his younger years.

_Taer Manansala - _He was a stranger who ventured into the land of Ma'yi, and he was well known for his skill with the bow and the spear. Over the next five years since his arrival he managed to unite all the different Ma'yen tribes, and for a time ruled them with his wife Dilag Dayanghirang, the daughter of the chieftain who first welcomed him. He was the father of Sinag-Tala. He disappeared in a storm when Sinag-Tala was ten years old, and is said to have died in that storm.

_Rashidi - _He was a man rumored to have come from the North. He gave valuable advice and aid to the people of Khemet, particularly to the wandering tribes and to the priestesses at the temples of Sakhmet and Amunet [8] in Yaminah. He disappeared, and is said to have died in the desert on his way back to the North. He is rumored to have possessed great magical powers.

_Apo Bañaga - _He was a man who journeyed through Ma'yi from the North. He constantly passed through Ma'yi, going north to south and back again, but he made one final journey north, and never came back. His most lasting legacy was what he taught the Ma'yen about shipbuilding. In the last few years of his journey he spent most of his time with the family of Taer Manansala.  
  
_Dilag Dayanghirang - _She was the daughter of one of the tribal chieftains of Ma'yi. When the tribes were united under her father's rule, she married the hero who had done the deed: Taer Manansala. When her father died, that made her and her husband the next rulers. She was the mother of Sinag-Tala, and a good friend of Apo Bañaga. She died of heartbreak a year after Taer died in a storm at sea.  
  
_Nephthys Nefertari - _She was the daughter of a scion of the Royal Family of Khemet, but when she met and fell in love with Rashidi, she was disowned by her family and forced to live amongst the wandering tribes of Khemet. She was killed during an Umbar raid on the tribe that had taken her and Anna in.

* * *

**A Brief Timeline of Events in the "Official" Middle-Earth**

FOURTH AGE 120  
  
-- death of Aragorn Elessar, King of Gondor and Arnor, and hero of the War of the Ring  
  
-- in the winter of this same year, Arwen Undómiel, Queen of Gondor and Arnor, wife of Aragorn Elessar, lay down to die in Cerin Amroth in Lothlórien

-- Legolas, Elf-lord of Ithilien, and his dear friend Gimli son of Gloin set sail for the Undying Lands after hearing of Aragorn's death  
  
FOURTH AGE 120-125 (Final Exodus of the Elves from Middle-Earth)  
  
-- during this five-year period, the Elves from such places as Rivendell, Lothlórien, Eryn Lasgalen (formerly Mirkwood), and Ithilien take ship to the Undying Lands. Elves of note are the following: Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond; and Thranduil, King of Eryn Lasgalen. With them went whatever Elves were left in Rivendell, Eryn Lasgalen, and Ithilien   
  
-- in the year 125, Círdan of the Havens launches the final fleet of Elven ships to leave Middle-Earth forever, consisting of Elves from the Falas and those who remained in Lothlórien with Celeborn. Elves of note who made this journey are: Círdan of the Gray Havens, and Celeborn of Lothlórien.

* * *

**A Timeline of Events in the South and Far East and Regarding the Characters and the Events Surrounding Them**

FOURTH AGE 80  
  
-- beginning of war between Umbar and Khemet; North Kingdom (Gondor and Arnor) is closed off from the war intentionally, in spite of Aragorn Elessar's attempts to broker a peace treaty between the two nations  
  
FOURTH AGE 100  
  
-- birth of Magtìr Teididh in Rûmenyen  
  
FOURTH AGE 110  
  
-- birth of Wei Ting Kuoh in Rûmenyen  
  
-- beginning of the tribal wars in Ma'yi  
  
-- beginning of the long stay of Rashidi in Khemet  
  
FOURTH AGE 111  
  
-- first appearance of Taer Manansala in Ma'yi

FOURTH AGE 114  
  
-- unification of tribes in Ma'yi by Taer Manansala  
  
-- wedding of Taer Manansala to Dilag Dayanghirang  
  
-- wedding of Rashidi and Nephthys Nefertari  
  
FOURTH AGE 115  
  
-- birth of Anna Nefertari in Khemet  
  
-- birth of Mié Djeserit in Khemet  
  
-- birth of Sinag-Tala in Ma'yi  
  
FOURTH AGE 118  
  
-- birth of Xin Teni in Rûmenyen  
  
FOURTH AGE 120  
  
-- departure of Rashidi from Khemet  
  
-- beginning of the internal collapse of Rûmenyen  
  
FOURTH AGE 123  
  
-- ascension of Xin Teni to the Dragon Throne of Rûmenyen

FOURTH AGE 124  
  
-- entrance of Mié Djeserit into the Temple of Sakhmet  
  
FOURTH AGE 125  
  
-- disappearance of Taer Manansala in a storm  
  
FOURTH AGE 126  
  
-- death of Dilag Dayanghirang  
  
FOURTH AGE 130  
  
-- death of Nephthys Nefertari  
  
-- departure of Magtìr Teididh from the circles of society in Rûmenyen__

* * *

[1]= The title of "Swordhand" is one that is given to someone – whether male or female, magic-user or non-magic-user – who has proven himself or herself to be exceptionally skilled with the use of the sword and other related weapons, and (in the case of magic-users), for those who are talented in the use of Fire magic. They are usually under the authority of the King of Rûmenyen. In war, they are usually the infantry.

[2]= Rûmenyen is a country far to the east of Middle-Earth, beyond Mordor and Khand. It is located in the area that was once called Hildórien. Its borders extend to the sea to the east, and the plains of Khand to the west. To the south, its borders extend through the pass between the Forests of Harad and the Mountains of the South almost to the edge of the Great Desert. To the north, the borders end at the rim of the Mountains of the East.

[3]= The title "Guard of the Shield" is given to someone – whether male or female, magic-user or non-magic-user – who has proven himself or herself to be skilled at wielding such weapons as the mace, the halberd, and the axe, and/or capable of using Earth magic. They are under the jurisdiction of the King; usually those belonging to this group are members of the Royal Guard. During a war, they are usually the cavalry.

[4]= Ma'yi is a country to the south of Rûmenyen. It consists mostly of forests, though many of the Ma'yen (as they are called in Umbar, Khemet and Rûmenyen) live along the coasts that lie between the forests and the sea. Ma'yi shares its northern borders with Rûmenyen, while to the east and south; the only border is the ring of coral and rocks that extends from the shore to almost twenty miles into the ocean. On the western front, Ma'yi's borders touch the Great Desert of the South, and consequently shares that border with Khemet.

[5]= Sakhmet (or Sekhmet) is an ancient Egyptian goddess of war. She is usually portrayed in ancient Egyptian art as a woman wearing a finely pleated linen dress with a lioness' head. Lionesses are sacred to Sakhmet and are often believed to be under her protection.  
  
[6]= Yaminah is a port city found to the south of Khemet. Here, the traders from Rûmenyen and Ma'yi come to trade goods and visit the immense Yaminah Market.

[7]= Khemet is a country to the west of Ma'yi, to the south of Gondor, and to the east of Umbar. It occupies the area of the Great Desert, and extends northwards somewhat almost to the foot of the mountains on the southern edge of Mordor. It shares part of its eastern border with Rûmenyen and Ma'yi, with the sea as its southern border. To the west, the borders between Khemet and Umbar are hostile, and are the site of many battles and skirmishes between the two nations.

[8]= Amunet is the ancient Egyptian goddess of mystery. In this story, she is a goddess of those who would wish to see into the future. All those who bear the gift of Seeing are under her protection, and often seek her temple in Yaminah for further training and guidance.


	2. Chapter 1: Setting the Stage

**Chapter One: Setting the Stage**

She looked out the window, grimacing when she saw the steep sides of the tower. The stone was completely, utterly smooth - no doubt polished using magic. Below, rocky outcrops with edges as sharp as knives gleamed dully in the moonlight, the white bones of the foolhardy - or the half-mad - peeking out from between the crags.  
  
Simply put, escape meant certain death.  
  
Anna huffed as she sat down on the rough wood bench that was both a chair and a bed in her prison. She had to get out of this place. She stared morosely at her surroundings: a dark room of cold, blank stone, and a roof that leaked. Of course, she should not have expected better treatment – she was a prisoner, after all – but a ground-floor cell would have been preferable to a chilly tower chamber.  
  
But _no_, Sheik Obed al-Kharim _insisted_ she have a room in the towers. "It is the only way to be polite to a guest of your magnitude," the Sheik had told her with a sinister smile as she was hauled away.  
  
Why was she being kept alive? That was one of the questions that niggled at the back of her mind between plotting escape plans. Usually, when the Umbarians managed to get their grubby paws on someone like her – Khemetians, as her people were called – said person was slaughtered on the spot. If said Khemetian happened to be female, well…those were the stories that were better left untold and unheard.  
  
She wondered if the reason was because of her staff – her father's staff, she corrected herself. She remembered the gleam of greed in the Sheik's eye when she was dragged over to him and forced to hand over the staff of ivory.  
  
She snorted. The fool. No one save her father would ever be able to unlock the power of the staff. Gods only knew how many times she had tried to use it, and gotten nothing except burnt hands for her efforts.  
  
Her father had come from the north - and from farther away from that, as Anna later found out when her mother told her. It certainly explained why her eyes were blue. In all other aspects, she was her mother's child: a slim, lithe build; golden honey-colored skin; hair as black as the sky on a moonless desert night; and eyes that had an exotic, almost cat-like quality to them that was common of the women of Khemet. The only things that gave away her strange heritage were the color of her eyes and her affinity for water and water sorcery.  
  
"Your father's mark upon you," Nephthys had told Anna on her tenth birthday. For some odd reason, she made it sound as if it were both a blessing and a curse.  
  
She sighed. Indeed, her "father's mark," as her mother had termed it, was both a blessing and a curse. But it was a part of her, a part of the blood that flowed in her veins, and there was nothing she could do about it. While her gifts had certainly been useful, there were times when she wished that she never had them at all.  
  
She shook her head sharply. No, that was in the past, she told herself. It was all in the past. She was mistress of her gifts now, and she would never lose control the way she had when-   
  
A sharp rapping on her prison door drew her out of her thoughts, and sent her crashing back to reality. She sat up straighter, and scowled as an Umbarian guard stepped beneath the archway, leering at her maliciously.  
  
"The Archmage will speak with you now," the guard said. He moved aside to allow two more guards to enter.  
  
She glared at the guard who had spoken to her, as the other two bound her hands behind her back. The light crackle that emanated from her bonds told her that the ropes were enchanted, most likely to prevent her from casting any spells. "And what does the Archmage need me for?"  
  
"It depends on his whim," the guard replied in a nonchalant manner that belied his words. "He may ask you about that staff you had with you. Or he may ask for another type of favor that you, being Khemetian, may not be so willing to give. Or he may ask for both." Here the guard laughed, as if he had just told a very clever joke.  
  
She snarled as she was led past him. "Your Archmage will be dead before he can so much as lay a finger on me."  
  
A gloved hand went up, slapping her across the face. Her head snapped to the side from the strength of the blow, and she tasted the sweet-salty flavor of blood on the tip of her tongue. Her lip had split and was bleeding. She turned her head slowly to glare ferociously at the guard.  
  
"Bring her to the Archmage," the guard said, avoiding the steely lance of her gaze.  
  
She suffered herself to be hauled towards the stairs, her mind thinking of how she could affect her escape.

* * *

He eyed the arcane symbols carved into the shaft of the staff; unable to decipher them, but certain that they contained untold power.  
  
And if he could unlock the meaning of those words, he, Omar Casim, Archmage of Umbar, would be the most powerful sorcerer the world had ever known.  
  
He raised the staff to the torchlight, letting the color of the flames tint the ivory in red and orange. The crystal set into the tip of the staff blazed a brilliant blue, taking in the light of the torches and casting it out again in rays of azure light.  
  
Yes, it was indeed what he sought for, what he had waited a lifetime to acquire: the staff of a Wizard of the North, the greatest magic-users to ever roam the land.  
  
Many stories had spoken of them: the Five Wizards of the North [1], who wielded magic now confined only to the realm of myth and legend. Each Wizard, so the legends said, owned a staff that was the symbol of what they were – a staff that was also the seat of their power.  
  
And now he held one of those fabled staffs in his hand. If he could only learn how to unlock its secrets, then he would have power beyond his wildest imaginings. He would no longer have to serve an idiot of a sheik; he would be the one being served. He would rule Umbar – no, the rest of the South. And after he had conquered the South, the North Kingdom [2] would no longer be-  
  
Knocking on the door interrupted his thoughts. "What?" he snapped irritably.  
  
"My Lord, we have the girl," replied the person on the other side. The voice was gruff – one of the many prison guards who worked deep in the labyrinthine dungeons beneath the palace.  
  
He stood still, and then smiled when he remembered why he had sent for the girl in the first place. "Ah, yes. Send her in."   
  
The door creaked open, and a pair of guards marched a girl into the room. They pushed her down into a chair, and while she yielded to them with minimal resistance, there was something in the way that she set her lips and glared at them with her eyes that declared to the world that she would not stand for such an indignity to her person.  
  
He gazed at her critically, and raised an eyebrow. _This_ scrawny child was the one who had attempted to assassinate the sheik? He thought it would be someone older, not this girl who was barely into womanhood. And judging from her features, she was a Khemetian. Why would Khemet send an inexperienced spy to slay the ruler of Umbar?  
  
Her blue eyes – a very rare trait amongst her people – looked up at him with the tempered ferocity of a caged leopardess. "What do you want of me?" she asked, her voice soft yet haughty. "You sent for me, and they said you wished to speak with me."  
  
He grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look at him squarely in the eye. "You will keep your silence, unless you wish me to cut out your tongue." He squeezed her face tightly, spitefully, just to hurt her, before he let her go. "At any rate, you will keep your tongue if you will tell me all you know about this." Here he showed her the ivory staff.  
  
The girl took one look at the staff, and shook her head. "I do not know the secrets of the staff."  
  
He turned to her, frowning in displeasure. Khemetians were not normally this stubborn, especially after they had been shown the "hospitalities" of the dungeons. He strode over to her, towering above her. "You will tell me the secrets of this staff, whelp, before I decide that you are better off fed to the wyverns [3]."  
  
The girl returned his gaze, and he was slightly unnerved by the shocking blue clarity of her irises. "I know nothing about that staff. The only one who could have known anything about it has been dead for fifteen years."  
  
He narrowed his eyes. The whelp was lying. The person was not dead at all. He slapped her across the face for her troubles. "You will not lie to me again, whelp. A third time, and I will really feed you to the wyverns."  
  
The girl turned to look at him again, and spat at him. Blood mixed with saliva dribbled down the front of his robes. "Then I'd much rather be food for the wyverns. Even if I knew how to use that staff, I would never tell you how."  
  
His eyes narrowed, and he clenched his jaw. "Very well then," he muttered coldly. "Since you are no longer of any use to me I may as well be done with you." He turned to the door. "Guards!"  
  
The door swung open, and the guards who had brought the girl entered. "My Lord?"  
  
"Take her," he nodded in the direction of the whelp, "and feed the wyverns."  
  
The guards strode into the room, and hauled the girl to her feet. As she was led past, she turned her head to glare at him. In that glare he saw a promise: the promise that she would come back and give him a slow, painful death.  
  
Her words did not go unheard by him: "Someday," she muttered, "someday…"  
  
The door closed again, silencing the rest of her words.   
  
The words unnerved him. There was something in the way she said them – perhaps the echo, or the tone of her voice – that made it seem as if she was laying a curse on him. A curse of eventual punishment and vengeance, that her hands would someday be stained with his blood, or that beneath her grip his breath would slip away and never, ever come back.  
  
He shook his head, dismissing the thought. It was preposterous. Once she had been delivered to the "care" of the wyverns that would be the end of her. Let the gods take her and be done with it, he thought.  
  
He gazed at the staff once more, noting how the engravings seemed more pronounced in the firelight. He traced the curlicues and arabesques with his fingertips, and smirked. There were other ways of unlocking the secrets and the magic of the staff…

* * *

Anna scanned the surrounding area, looking for a possible escape route that would lead her to freedom. As of the moment, however, there was no escape route. All the passages were guarded, and she knew that trying to run away now would only get her killed.  
  
That meant she would just have to try her luck with the wyverns.  
  
The rank stench of rotting meat and wyvern dung assaulted her nostrils, almost making her gag. She was now standing in front of an iron gate that led to a bowl-shaped area with steep sides, topped by a fine wire mesh to prevent the wyverns from escaping. Beyond that she could see the wyverns of the Umbarians milling around restlessly, waiting for their next meal. In the faint light of the crescent moon she could just make out the edges of well-gnawed bones both human and animal.  
  
She tasted fear at the back of her throat. It was obvious to her now that these people had tried to get out, but had failed miserably. In the faint, watery light she caught sight of the gleam of gold and other metals – weapons that had proven to be of no avail against the sweeping wings, powerful tails and sharp talons and fangs of the wyverns. And in such a tightly enclosed area, it truly was impossible to escape, even if one was armed to the teeth. There would simply be no room to stand ground and attack properly, since the creatures would be everywhere all at once. If she wished to escape, she would have to find some room in which to attack.  
  
But first, she had to find a way to cut her bonds.  
  
Just then, she felt a tingling that began in the soles of her feet, and climbed all the way to the base of her skull. Her lips curved into a grin. A saltwater spring below the enclosure? What luck! In her mind, she quickly began to form a plan that – she hoped – would work.  
  
The gate clattered open then, and she was shoved in the space beyond. The moment the barrier clanged shut, the wyverns attacked.  
  
Uadjit's [4] vengeance light on the mage who made these accursed ropes, she swore in her mind, ducking as a wyvern swooped down on her. She hissed in pain when one of the wing-edges caught the skin of her forearm, cutting a long gash into the flesh. The Umbarians were cruel masters; they often edged the wings of their wyverns in a thin layer of iron. Once the iron had cooled, it was as sharp as a razor blade, and thus made the wyvern an even deadlier weapon: the iron-edged wings could easily sever a man's head from his shoulders if he happened to be too close while the creature was flapping around. The process was a very painful one for the wyverns. Perhaps that was why they were so hostile.  
  
She hopped backwards to avoid the snapping jaws of another, and she choked when she inhaled the creature's breath. While these wyverns did not possess venom, their diet, which consisted of decaying and rotten meat, was foul enough that one bite would cause the wound to become infected. If not treated immediately, one could die from such a wound. She knew all too well – many of Khemet's finest warriors had died from bites inflicted by the Umbar wyverns.  
  
I wish I had something sharp, she thought as she ran between the legs of a wyvern that had loomed over her, confusing it. Taking advantage of that pause, she looked around, searching for an object sharp enough to cut her bonds. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something glint in the sparse moonlight: the edge of a small dagger, held in the bony grip of an unfortunate soul who had not been able to fend off the monsters that had eaten him.  
  
Renenet [5] be praised, she thought in relief, offering a prayer to the Goddess of Fortune. She rolled along the ground to retrieve the dagger and avoid the sweep of a third wyvern's tail, resulting in her getting covered in mud and dung. Flipping the dagger over in her palm, she used it to sever the ropes that bound her wrist. The blade was still sharp and cut the bonds easily, but it came away with more than just hemp.  
  
Thus freed from her impediments, she stood up, and raised bloodied hands to the sky. In a voice that was almost not her own, she cried out the words to the spell that caused the water of the underground spring to rise to the surface.  
  
The ground beneath her feet began to tremble, first only slightly, but grew more and more violent. The wyverns screeched and took to the air, their wings stirring up the bones that were scattered on the ground. Despite all of this, she stood firm, knowing what was to come.  
  
In a few moments, a rumbling sound climbed from the depths of the earth, growing louder and louder as the quakes grew stronger. The wyverns went wild, beating against the mesh over the top of their enclosure. The rumbling reached its peak, and the walls of the enclosure suddenly sank into the now-marshy ground. She had caused the waters of the underground spring to come to the surface, destroying the foundations of the enclosure and causing it to sink into the moist ground.  
  
She had very little time to think of her accomplishment, for she was still too close to danger. Dropping the dagger she had recovered, she slogged over the mud-like earth, hoping that the wyverns would be too busy enjoying their freedom to notice her.  
  
She had hoped for too much. The moment she had cleared the ruins of the enclosure and was in the open, one of the wyverns caught sight of her, and dove after her with a cry of hunger.  
  
She cursed when she saw the wyvern following her. She could have dealt with it using magic, but she had neither the time nor strength to do so. Her only hope was to somehow find a place where she could hide safely. But all around her there was nothing but open, dry, dusty plain, without a single patch of greenery for her to hide in. It was as if Saa [6] had forsaken this land.  
  
The wind whistled an awful sound, mingling with the sound of her scream as the wyvern's claws dug into her shoulders, lifting her into the air. In desperation, she scratched at the legs of the creature until her fingertips bled, but it didn't work. The scales of the legs were simply too tough to be affected by her scratching.  
  
She looked down at the landscape passing below, and she saw that they were passing over a pond, but the water was too far away for her to use.  
  
Realizing that she had no other choice, she decided that she had to do something. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. There was only one way she could save herself now. It was forbidden magic – blood magic – but she had no other choice.  
  
Wincing against the pain, she placed her hand against her wounded shoulder, and murmured another spell, one that would draw the blood out of her body through the wound, and form it into a weapon in her hand.  
  
Her heart lurched, and her veins ran cold as the spell drew out the blood from her wound and into her hand. As she watched, the sanguine fluid solidified, forming a dagger that glimmered like a pale ruby in the moonlight. She became lightheaded, and she struggled to maintain a clear line of thought, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. If she wanted to free herself, she had to act now. With a cry, she raised her blood-dagger, and stabbed it into the wyvern's knee joint.  
  
The reaction was instantaneous. The wyvern let out a yowl of pain, and dropped her into the lake. The moment she plunged into the water, she lost consciousness.

* * *

"Where is it going?"  
  
"East, towards the lake," he muttered, never taking his eye out of the spyglass that he was using to track the progress of the wyvern that had been flying over the lake across from his house. It was a black wyvern – a species that was kept only by the people of Umbar. But what was an Umbar wyvern doing, flying over Rûmenyan [7] territory? Did they wish to engage in a war against them? Was this the first act of hostility against his nation?  
  
His eyes narrowed. Rûmenyen could not fight a war, not now, not with the kingdom in such turmoil. If the Corsairs did decide to launch a war against them at this point in time, then they would surely lose – unless the West Kingdom [8] decided to take action, but he was highly doubtful that it would.  
  
He snapped to attention again when he noticed that a figure – human – was dangling from the wyvern's claws. As he watched, the figure lifted what looked like a dagger, and stabbed it into the joint of the wyvern's knees. The creature yowled in pain, letting go of its erstwhile passenger who dropped like a stone into the waters of the pond that was just outside his home.  
  
There was a whisper of soft cloth and leather behind him as his companion got up, joining him at the window. "What was that, Magtìr?"  
  
Magtìr Teididh lowered the spyglass, placing it back on the stand just below the windowsill. "Wei," he said, "get some healing supplies together: honey, knitbone [9], yarrow – anything you can find. Bring bandages too: there should be some on the shelf next to the door."  
  
Wei Ting Kuoh looked at him in a puzzled manner. "Why?"   
  
He did not allow her to continue, because he was out the door before she could continue. He knew that he had to explain, but he did not have the time, not right now. If he wanted to reach the person in the pond in time to save him or her, he had to move quickly.  
  
The wind was chilly, and he had forgotten to wear a cloak, but it was not important. He jogged to the pond, wading into the shallows before diving into the cold water. He swam underwater for a while, and surfaced quickly, looking around. He found what he was looking for nearby: a floating object that resembled a log, but that he knew wasn't a log at all.  
  
He swam closer, and drew the floating body close for inspection. It was a girl, with long raven hair and golden-tan skin – obviously from the South, and from her dress, one of the many tribes that lived in and around the Great Desert [10].  
  
He swam towards shore, towing the girl along behind him. When he glanced at the shore, he saw Wei waiting there, a small satchel in her hands.  
  
Wei opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but fell silent immediately when she saw the girl.  
  
"Move," he muttered, waiting till Wei stepped back before laying the girl down on the grass. His frown deepened when he saw the wounds in the girl's shoulders where the wyvern's claws had dug into her flesh. There was also certain paleness to her face and coldness to her skin that indicated something else. His eyes narrowed again. Blood magic?  
  
"She is a Khemetian," Wei murmured then, while he looked through the healing implements.   
  
He took in the features of the girl for a moment, and nodded in agreement to Wei's assessment. "So she is." He uncorked one of the bottles in the satchel that Wei had brought, and sniffed the contents. Honey and knitbone. He nodded in satisfaction. It was good enough.  
  
"How bad is the wound?" Wei inquired.  
  
He did not stop in his motions, steadily wrapping the bandages around the girl's injured shoulder. "It is rather deep, but we got to her in time. She will heal quickly."  
  
"Then she will awaken while I am still here?"  
  
"Yes," he replied. He glanced up at his companion as he knotted the ends of the bandages together. "She should be well by the end of this week. Come." He wiped his hands on his wet trousers before picking the girl up. She was light – far too light for someone of her height. He frowned at this. Perhaps it was a side effect of the blood magic that she had performed – whatever it might have been.  
  
Wei led the way back to his cottage, holding the door open for him.  
  
He paused a moment on the threshold, looking back at the world outside. After ensuring that all was safe, he entered the cottage, and Wei closed the door behind him.

* * *

[1]= In the Trilogy, only two Wizards play a major role, though three are mentioned by name: Saruman the White, Gandalf the Gray (who eventually became Gandalf the White after Saruman fell into disgrace), and Radagast the Brown. In truth, there were five Wizards. Saruman briefly mentions the idea in _The Fellowship of the Ring_, but it isn't discussed in full detail except in _The Unfinished Tales_.  
  
[2]= This refers to the Reunited Kingdoms under the House of Telcontar – what would be, in Tolkien's canon, the area that is officially recognized as Middle-Earth.  
  
[3]= In mythology, wyverns are creatures that are said to be like dragons, but do not have the forelimbs that regular dragons do, having only hind legs, and are also more serpent-like than their dragon kin. They are said to be a cross between dragons and serpents.  
  
I have speculated before that the fell beasts that were the mounts of the Nazgûl during the War of the Ring were wyverns, and I play that angle to the fullest in this story. While some speculate that it was Sauron himself who created the fell beasts (and thus the species of wyverns itself), I myself choose to believe that Sauron did not create the wyverns as a species, but instead took wyverns from places in the South and East, and corrupted them in Barad-dur into the "fell beasts" mentioned in the Trilogy. The fact that Tolkien has written next to nothing about the flora and fauna of the South and the East makes my idea a very tantalizing possibility.  
  
[4]= This is the name of the Egyptian cobra goddess. Though in actual Egyptian mythology Uadjit is the protector of the Pharaoh and the rest of the Royal Household, in my story she is the Goddess of Vengeance, her role being similar to that of the Furies in Greek mythology.  
  
[5]= She is the ancient Egyptian goddess of fortune.  
  
[6]= This is the name of an ancient Egyptian god of nature.  
  
[7]= This is a reference to the kingdom of Rûmenyen, which lies beyond the eastern wastes near Mordor, in what was once Hildorien.  
  
[8]= This is another reference to the Reunited Kingdoms under the House of Telcontar.  
  
[9]= This is another name for comfrey, which is an herb that aids in the quick healing of wounds.  
  
[10]= This is the desert area that takes up a large part of the Near and Far South.


	3. Chapter 2: Seeking a Boon and Knowledge

**Chapter Two: Seeking a Boon and Knowledge**

"She must at least have the right to choose. My wife has passed away; she has gone to that place where the souls of Men go. I have accepted that. But should not my daughter be given the Choice [1]?"  
  
"She was born of a mortal, Pallando [2]. As such, she cannot come to the shores of Aman."  
  
Despair coursed through his heart, more despair than he had ever thought possible in Aman. Was this to be his fate: to be sundered from his beloved daughter until the End simply because she was part mortal? He knew that it was wrong to rebel against his Lord, but he had to try, at least, to fight for what he believed was right.   
  
It was wrong of me to give up on her so easily, he thought sadly. What sort of father was he, abandoning his own flesh and blood to the harshness of Arda, when she could live with him in joy and bliss in Aman, until the End? He should have known that Aman would prove to be no escape from the emptiness he felt without his daughter, that the ties of blood he shared with her would call out to him even across the Sundering Seas.   
  
And she was in danger, that much he knew: that much he had known while he was still in Arda. He had tried to teach her as best as he could during the last three years of his stay with his family, but it was not nearly enough.   
  
He had left her his staff in the hopes that someday she would learn enough and be powerful enough to use it, but he doubted it. Without his guidance, she could not learn how to manipulate the power that was threaded through her blood. He had taught her enough in her childhood that she would be able to keep it under control, but to be able to use it to the fullest extent required a longer period of time – one that he was not able to have with her.   
  
Yes, he feared for her, as a father fears for his child when he is certain that something great and terrible is about to befall her. His blood was both a gift to her, and a curse: while on one hand it made it possible for her to wield powers greater than those that other mortals had been allowed to use, it also threatened to rend her asunder, threatened to harm not just her, but all those around her.   
  
But that was not the only danger. The waters of Arda had brought rumor of war flaring hot and fierce in the South, a war that was driven by a greed for power that should never be touched.   
  
And he knew – he had always known, since her birth – that his daughter would be in the center of the storm.   
  
He shook his head. No, he would not give up on her so easily.   
  
"Yet my blood flows through her veins as well, does it not? My Lord, you know of the dangers of that: of a mortal girl having the blood of the Maiar in her veins. You know well what is going on in the South and in the East. There is war there, My Lord. The people are greedy for power. My daughter shall be caught in the midst of this war, and because of her gifts she may be used by those with evil intentions." He bowed his head. "I only wish to see her safe and sound. She is my daughter, My Lord, my own flesh and blood. Any father in the same position as I would do all he could to make sure his daughter was safe, especially if he knew of the dangers his child was in."   
  
"She is still a mortal."   
  
" She does not have to be mortal if she is allowed to make a choice. My Lord, please… I have asked of no favor from you until now. I beg of you, grant me this one boon."   
  
"… Very well then. I shall give you my decision tomorrow, after I have spoken to Manwë."   
  
He smiled, and sighed in relief as he bowed. So there was still hope after all! "Thank you, My Lord Ulmo."

* * *

Olórin [3] wandered the Gardens of Lórien, searching for his friend, Pallando. As he searched, he wondered why his old friend would seek him out for counsel. It had been long since they last spoke to one another. That had been fifteen years ago, when he and his friend Alatar [4] had returned to Aman on the last Elven-ship that would ever leave from the shores of Arda. Pallando was a vassal of Ulmo, while Alatar served Oromë. The Valar had sent the two of them as emissaries during the Third Age of Arda. The other three were Curumo [5], Aiwendil [6], and himself, Olórin. In Arda, they went under the guise of Wizards, aiding the people of Middle-Earth in their struggle against the evil of Gorthaur.   
  
Of course, it had not gone has Olórin had hoped – not all of it, at least. First Aiwendil decided to cloister himself in the forests and held himself aloof from the very struggles they had come to solve, and then Curumo had tried to gain power for himself. But all was resolved in the end. Gorthaur was defeated, and cast into the Void with his master, Melkor.   
  
As for Alatar and Pallando…well, that was an entirely different matter altogether. They had gone south and east beyond Mordor, and into the lands of the Haradrim and the kingdoms of Men in what was once called Hildorien. He had spoken much with Alatar of his comings and goings in that place, for Alatar had told tales of a kingdom there ruled by Men, which was prosperous in its own right, and as beautiful as Gondor, but with different beliefs and philosophies from those who lived in the White City.   
  
But Pallando had not spoken of his time in the South. Not a single story passed his lips about what had happened there. His report to Lord Ulmo was done behind closed doors, and thus went unheard by Olórin, Alatar, and all the other Maiar. Olórin speculated that it was because something had happened there that Pallando did not want to remember, but he did not go so far as to push the issue with his friend. He knew that the story would come out in time, and he would get his knowledge then.   
  
"Olórin."   
  
Olórin turned to the voice that had mentioned his name, and smiled. "Pallando, old friend! It is good to see you again."   
  
Pallando laughed, his iridescent blue robes shimmering in the soft dreamlike silver light of Lórien, and nodded. "And it is good to see you again, Olórin. How fare things here?"   
  
"Everything is well." Olórin gazed at Pallando with a serious mien. "You desired to speak with me about something?"   
  
Pallando sighed, and nodded. "Yes. I came to ask for your aid."   
  
Olórin was a little surprised. He did not know how he could aid Pallando, or why he would come to seek his aid in the first place. "And what aid may I provide you?"   
  
"I seek your wisdom in finding my daughter."   
  
Olórin's eyes widened in disbelief at what Pallando had just said. He had not anticipated that at all. "A daughter? You did not tell me of this when you returned from Arda!"   
  
Pallando smiled and bowed his head ruefully. "I had intended to keep it secret, hoping to forget as time went by, but I cannot forget my child."   
  
Olórin shook his head. The union of one of the Maiar and one of the Children of Iluvatar was not unheard-of, but it had happened only once. The union was that of Melyanna, a handmaid of Vána and Estë, and Elwë Singollo, who had been known in Beleriand as Melian and Elu Thingol. Their child was Lúthien Tinúviel, who, because of her love for the mortal Beren Erchamion, sang for the Vala Námo that they be given one more chance to be together. But Lúthien paid a price: she was reborn as a mortal, and died a mortal's death with her husband. Thus, Olórin knew, if Pallando did have a child, that child would have been of the same rank as Lúthien – meaning that she should have made the journey to the Undying Lands with her father and mother. But why had they not? "The last Elven ship arrived with you in it. If you had taken a wife and had a child, they would be with you on that ship."   
  
"They could not come with me. Our Lords would not have permitted it."   
  
"Why? Surely they would welcome an Elf-female and her child, regardless if the child had been yours or not."   
  
"That is what I mean." Pallando looked up at him a meaningful gaze. "My wife is not an Elf. She is mortal."   
  
Olórin was stunned beyond belief. A mortal woman? Pallando had taken a _mortal_ for a wife? How could that be? Why had he done so? It was an unprecedented occurrence: one of the Maiar taking a mortal for a wife and having a child by her. He would not have been so surprised if it had been an Elf-lady, but it was not. Why Pallando, he wondered as he stared at his friend. Why a mortal?   
  
Pallando chuckled wearily. "I see the question in your eyes, Olórin. Why did I do it? Why a mortal? Those are questions I tried to answer over the five years spent with my family and the fifteen since I returned, but I can give no answer save that love has the power to encompass all races, and that it is powerful enough to shatter all barriers. I truly love my wife, and our daughter is the most precious gift I have ever received. Her very existence seems to say that Eru approves of the love my wife and I share, for I doubt if He would ever have allowed our daughter to be conceived and born had He thought otherwise."   
  
Olórin nodded slowly, digesting all of this information. It was almost too much to handle. A child of Maiar and Adan blood was something he had not encountered before…and something very, very dangerous. Olórin was well aware of all the possibilities that such a union presented: Lúthien herself was proof of that. A child born of the Maiar was possessed of many gifts – gifts that were both wondrous and perilous. It was only because of Melyanna's tutelage that Lúthien was not consumed by the power that throbbed within her blood. What would happen to a child – a half-mortal child, at that – without the proper guidance? The idea frightened him. "Why did you not take her with you?"   
  
"I did not wish to do such a thing without the permission of my Lords," Pallando replied. "And…I thought that by returning here, I would be able to forget. I did not wish to interfere with their lives anymore, for I am a Maia and they are mortal, and have their own lives to lead. But I cannot bear to be separated from my child, my own flesh and blood. It is painful enough to be torn away from my wife until the End, but from my child as well?"   
  
Olórin smiled slightly and patted Pallando on the shoulder in a comforting gesture. "All will be well, my friend. Did you speak to your Lords about this?"   
  
Pallando nodded. "I have. I spoke to Lord Ulmo first, and he brought the message to Lord Manwë. They agreed to have a small group of the Quendi return to Arda and search for her."   
  
Olórin smiled. "Well then, your troubles are solved! The people of Gondor still remember much of the lore of the Elves. Even then, they never truly forget the Quendi, for the ruling house of Telcontar does not forget its origins in the union of Aragorn Elessar and Arwen Undómiel. They will help you find your child."   
  
Pallando shook his head. "No, they cannot help. My daughter was not born of the people in the North. She was born of the people in the South, those who inhabit the area of the Great Desert."   
Olórin's eyes widened. The South was a dangerous place, one where the Quendi had never ventured before. "But the Quendi have never ventured that far before. They do not know what the land is like."   
  
Pallando smiled grimly. "That is what I feared. They are unfamiliar with the people and the land, and that may lead to their failure. But whom else shall we send? Our Lords will not allow us to return to Arda, and so I cannot venture there myself to find my daughter. The Quendi who will be sent are my only hope of ever seeing my daughter again.   
  
"That is why I came to you, old friend. You are most familiar with the Quendi. I ask you to name those amongst them who can be sent as emissaries to Arda, to seek and find my daughter, and return with her to Aman."   
  
Olórin gazed at his friend. He sensed the desperation in Pallando's plight, as well as the deep love he felt for his child. It was true: the greatest wrong one can commit against a parent is to tear him or her away from his or her child, and never have contact with said offspring.   
  
And, if he was correct, then Pallando's child was quite possibly in danger. After all, a child of Maiar blood would be possessed of powers the other mortal magic-users in the South of Arda would kill to own.   
  
"I believe I know of a few who may be able to help," Olórin said slowly. "But you must tell me all you know about the South, for I will only be able to decide if I know what conditions they must face…"

* * *

[1]= A term used for the choice that the Half-Elves – Eärendil, Elwing, and all their descendants – had to make (or rather, were privileged to make): whether to be mortal or to be immortal.   
  
[2]= He is one of the two Blue Wizards mentioned in _The Unfinished Tales_. His name in Middle-Earth is not mentioned, and neither are his doings. All that is known is that he ventured either to the South or to the East, and there accomplished whatever mission the Valar assigned to him. In _The Unfinished Tales_, Pallando is a vassal of either Oromë, or Mandos and Nienna. For this story, I am going against all of that, and assigning Pallando to Ulmo.   
  
[3]= This is Gandalf's original name, the one that was used by the Valar and his fellow Maiar when he was in the Undying Lands.   
  
[4]= He is one of the two Blue Wizards mentioned in _The Unfinished Tales_. Like Pallando, his name in Middle-Earth is not mentioned, and the same thing goes for what he did. All that is known is that he either went South or East as the Valar assigned him. In _The Unfinished Tales_ Alatar is a vassal of Oromë.   
  
[5]= This is Saruman's original name.   
  
[6]= This is Radagast's original name.


	4. Chapter 3: In Tirion Upon Túna

**Chapter Three: In Tirion Upon Túna**

The market square of Tirion upon Túna was filled with people, and the area had a lively quality about it that was not present in the halls and courts he was often in.  
  
Being Ereinion Gil-galad, son of Fingon and the last High King of the Noldor in Arda, had its own disadvantages. He would have preferred to be out riding in the woods, amongst the Maiar and Eldar who went in the train of Oromë, the Huntsman of the Valar; but as the son of one who had once been High-King of the Noldor (and as one who had once been High King himself), he had to remain in the city and not go "gallivanting in the forests," as his father had once remarked.   
  
He frowned when he thought of that. He thought that when he was rehoused [1] and returned to the people of Aman, he would be free – free from the duties and responsibilities of ruling and leadership. After all, it was Finarfin's house that now held the High Kingship in Aman. What role did the House of Fingolfin have to play?   
  
"Still morose, My Lord?"   
  
Ereinion looked up, and turned around. He smiled slightly as Elrond, son of Eärendil and Elwing, appeared in the doorway.   
  
The once Master of Imladris smiled at him sympathetically as he stepped into the room, hands behind his back as he walked towards the window Ereinion was standing at. "You should not look so miserable, Ereinion. Not with such fine weather outside."   
  
Ereinion rolled his eyes. It was very much like his former Vice-Regent and foster son to tease him like this. "What use is such weather to me if I cannot go out and enjoy it?"   
  
Elrond chuckled. "I suspected you would say that." He tossed a pair of leather riding gloves at Ereinion.   
  
Ereinion caught the items, and looked at the gloves with a raised eyebrow. "What do you intend me to do with these?"   
  
"Let us just say that I have come to abduct you." Elrond adjusted the fit of his own riding gloves, which Ereinion had not seen until that moment. "I have arranged for a meeting with Glorfindel and Ecthelion. We are to join them on a short excursion to Orom's Woods, and join the Vala's hunt this afternoon."   
  
Now Ereinion had to smile. Once more, Elrond had anticipated his needs. He gave his friend a teasing look. "And why do you seek our company, when you have that of your wife? I am sure she is a more pleasant companion than three rehoused Elf-lords."   
  
He laughed when he noticed Elrond flush visibly. He put on the gloves, and grinned at Elrond. "Shall we?"

* * *

"Please refresh my memory as to why we are here."   
  
Ecthelion rolled his eyes. "Elrond asked us to come here. We are to spend the afternoon hunting in the train of Oromë."   
  
Glorfindel glared at him. "I know that," he muttered, shifting irritably in his saddle. "I wished to know why we are here, in front of the Halls of Fingolfin, when we should be riding out of the gates by now. And why we are joining Orom's hunt to begin with?"   
  
Ecthelion looked at his friend. "We are here to accompany Elrond and Lord Ereinion. Were you not paying attention when Elrond spoke to us?"   
  
Glorfindel did not respond. When Ecthelion turned to look, he noticed that the golden-haired Elda's eyes were following a small group of female Elves as they rode by on palfreys, heading towards another part of Tirion.   
  
He resisted the urge to use his riding crop on the flank of Glorfindel's mount, and cause his friend to be thrown out of his saddle. He found it extremely irritating that all it took to distract Glorfindel was to have a female Elf walk by him.   
  
Sometimes, he found it hard to imagine that this was the selfsame Elf who had slain a Balrog during the First Age of Arda, that he was once known as the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower [2]. He found it hard to imagine that this was the same Glorfindel who had fought at the Battle of Fornost, and was the seneschal of Lord Elrond Peredhil in Imladris.   
  
But that was Glorfindel, and no amount of time spent in Mandos' Halls would ever rid him of his skirt-chasing tendencies. And while Ecthelion was oftentimes ashamed for his friend, he did have to admit, it was these very same tendencies that made Glorfindel amusing to watch.   
  
Two more riders approached them, emerging from the direction of the stables of the Halls of Fingolfin. One was clad in hunting clothes of gray and green – simple and clean. The other had on richer garments: also hunting garb, but shot through with silver thread along the edges of the collar, and embroidered with small silver stars on the sleeves.   
  
Ecthelion smiled pleasantly. "Good day, My Lord Ereinion."   
  
Ereinion – the Elf with stars embroidered in his clothes – gave him a smile in return. "And a good day to you as well, Lord Ecthelion." He turned to Glorfindel, raised an eyebrow, and said, "I would greet Lord Glorfindel as well, but he seems rather preoccupied."   
  
Ecthelion glanced at Glorfindel, and realized that the golden-haired Elf-lord was staring at a large group of maidens who had just walked by him. Why was he not surprised? "Glorfindel, if you are quite finished staring at the maidens, I think you would like to greet Lord Ereinion."   
  
Glorfindel jerked visibly, and he turned around to look at the arrivals. He smiled at Ereinion. "Ah, My Lord Ereinion! The day finds you well, I hope?"   
  
Ereinion shrugged. "Well, the chance to get away from my grandsire's halls on a day like this was something I simply could not pass up." He grinned at Elrond. "And I am grateful for what you are doing for me."   
  
Elrond chuckled. "Better than having you in a foul mood for the next few days."   
  
Ecthelion chortled in agreement. Ereinion had been prone to snap at people who spoke to him if he had not been allowed to so much as leave Fingolfin's Halls due to his duties. In his opinion, the rest of Fingolfin's household should thank him, Elrond, and Glorfindel. It was usually the three of them who devised and organized ways of entertaining and distracting Ereinion from the stress of his duties.   
  
Unless, of course, Elrond was preoccupied with his wife and sons, or Glorfindel had gone off again in pursuit of his favorite prey: the beauties of Tirion and Alqualondë.   
  
In the meantime, however, his three other companions had engaged themselves in a hearty discussion concerning Ereinion's habit of snapping at people. Naturally, Ereinion was denying everything, while Elrond and Glorfindel were confirming it.   
  
"I do not snap at people when I am in a foul mood," Ereinion insisted.   
  
Glorfindel shook his head. "My Lord, I doubt if you are aware of just how foul your mood can be. I remember a day but a few weeks ago, when I entered the library of your grandsire's halls in the hope of finding a particular document, and was nearly struck on the head by a book that you had thrown."   
  
"I did not know you had entered," Ereinion explained defensively. "Had I know that you were coming I would not have thrown that book at you."   
  
"But I remember the same thing happening to me a few months ago," Elrond commented lightly, "and as I recall, on both instances you had just returned from a meeting with your grandsire and father – and in those meetings, they had insisted that you remain in the halls for the rest of the year well into next Midsummer."   
  
Ereinion flushed, and Ecthelion laughed with Elrond and Glorfindel. It was going to be a very amusing afternoon.

* * *

"So you have seen the danger that your daughter is in?"   
  
Pallando nodded. "I have, and that is why I wish to bring her back. But she is also a danger for Arda, while she is there."   
  
Alatar stared at his dear friend, automatically nudging his mount forward to follow the other huntsmen in the train of Oromë. "Why do you say so?"   
  
"I had known of the possibilities during the five years I spent with my family before we departed," Pallando replied. "There is war going on in the South now, Alatar. The mortal magic-users are becoming too greedy for their own good, and wish to acquire powers that they should not touch."   
  
Alatar listened in silence. He had hoped that such a thing would not happen, but it was. He had seen it brewing, this greed for power. He had seen it brewing in the East, and he knew that it was bound to come to the people in the South. There was nothing that could stop humans from acquiring what they wished – even if it meant dragging the entire world back into the chaos and turmoil of war.   
  
"As you know, Manwë has banned all Maiar from leaving Aman and going to Arda, so I will not be able to fetch my daughter myself. However, he and My Lord Ulmo have given me leave to select a small group of Quendi who will take a ship, venture into Arda, find my daughter, and return here with her."   
  
Alatar gazed at his dear friend in stunned surprise. Send the Quendi to the South and the East? That was almost like committing them to a death sentence! "But the Quendi have no knowledge of the South and the East! They do not know of the customs and ways of the people, they are unfamiliar with the languages spoken there-"   
  
"But I have no other choice," Pallando said wearily. "If I wish to see my daughter safe, and ensure that her strengths are not used for evil ends, then I must have the Quendi seek for her."   
  
Alatar fell silent. This was a very dangerous task, but if it was not accomplished… He shook his head. No, there was danger both if nothing was done and if something was done. In such a case, it was always preferable to try and solve the problem than to wait and allow it to develop into something worse.   
  
"Whom, then, shall you send?" he asked. This was a very crucial question – Alatar knew that, and he was sure that Pallando did too. Many of the Quendi had become weary of Arda, and he was quite certain than none of them would wish to return. Those who would be sent had to be great warriors, because of the war that was brewing there. They would also have to be quick learners, because if they did not learn of the customs and ways of the people, they could end up being sold as slaves, or worse, sentenced to die. Above all, they had to have an inherent need to survive.   
  
If there was one thing that Alatar had come to admire about the people of the East, where he had traveled, it was that they were not so willing to give up as their Western and Northern brethren. This instinct for survival ran like a connecting thread through all the cultures of the South and the East. It was a quality that had to be present in the Quendi emissaries, lest they falter and fall.   
  
Pallando looked at him. "Olórin suggested a few names when I spoke to him. I shall speak with these Elf-lords once I have managed to locate them."   
  
Alatar nodded. "So that is why you have joined our convoy." Orom's group was passing through the forests that were close to the foot of the hill of Túna, at the crown of which stood the Eldarin city of Tirion.   
  
"Yes," Pallando agreed, and then he smiled. "That is my primary destination, but I am glad I came here. It has been long, old friend, since last we spoke. How have you been thus far?"   
  
Alatar chuckled, and proceeded to fill in his companion on the goings-on at Valmar and of the life as a huntsman of Oromë.

* * *

[1]= Tolkien put forth two possibilities for the Elves who had died and were residing in the Halls of Mandos. One of those possibilities was rebirth: the Elf's spirit would be cleansed of most of the memories from the previous life, and then would be reborn in a body that was not like the one they had in their previous life – something that would not be necessary, since the memories of the previous life would have been erased. Re-housing, on the other hand, is simply placing the Elf's spirit in a copy of the original body, with all the memories of the previous life intact. This seems to have been the case in The Silmarillion with Finrod, and quite possibly with Glorfindel (though the issue of whether Glorfindel of Gondolin and Glorfindel of Imladris were one and the same is still open to debate). Based on these two examples, I worked on that idea – which is why Ecthelion and Ereinion Gil-galad appear in this story as happy and as whole as ever.   
  
[2]= While it is still debatable whether Glorfindel of Imladris, seneschal of Lord Elrond, is indeed the same as Glorfindel of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, I decided that I would make them one and the same. First of all, the idea of re-housing, as I discussed above, makes it very plausible for Glorfindel to have died after his fight with the Balrog, and then be re-housed in Aman before being sent back to Arda to be a guide and guardian of Elrond and his family. Second, the possibility of Glorfindel being re-housed is very plausible because of what happened to Finrod.


	5. Chapter 4: A New Quest

**Chapter Four: A New Quest**

He watched with a stern gaze as his son returned from wherever he had gone off to. Ereinion's cheeks were flushed from the joy and exertion of an afternoon hunt in the train of Oromë. He removed his riding gloves, and with his hands tried to smooth down the errant strands of black hair that had escaped his braids during the ride.   
  
Fingon turned to the figure wearing shimmering blue robes seated in one of the chairs of Ereinion's study. "Forgive my son, My Lord. He enjoys the hunt far too much, I am afraid." And enjoys running away from his duties, it would seem, Fingon did not add.   
  
He always wondered why Ereinion enjoyed playing truant sometimes. He speculated that it had something to do with his responsibilities as one of the chief advisers of Finarfin the High King – as was the duty of all those who had once been High Kings of the Noldor in Arda.   
  
Pallando, Maia in the service of Ulmo, smiled serenely. "It is no trouble, Fingon. I saw Ereinion join the train of Oromë as I was entering Tirion."   
  
Fingon raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you not speak to him then?"   
  
"I did not wish to interrupt him, or impede his errand." Pallando shrugged. "I would prefer to speak with him here, where he will not be distracted by other things."   
  
Just then, Ereinion entered the study, and Fingon turned around to see a surprised expression on his son's face.   
  
"Father," Ereinion said, looking quite startled. "Why are you here? Was there something you wished to discuss?"   
  
Fingon smiled wryly at his son. "Ereinion, I would never have prevented you from going out every now and then. I only wish that you would leave a note of some sort informing the household of your whereabouts. That way we shall know what to tell visitors who come seeking you out." Here, he moved aside, revealing Pallando. "Master Pallando arrived earlier this afternoon, desiring to have a word with you."   
  
Ereinion flushed in an embarrassed manner, and bowed to Pallando. "Forgive me for keeping you waiting, My Lord. Had I known that you were coming, I would not have left to join Orom's hunt."   
  
Pallando smiled, and bowed to Ereinion in greeting. "I bid you welcome, Lord Ereinion."

* * *

Pallando smiled in amusement as he gazed at the youngest to have become High King of the Noldor in Arda. "I trust that your hunt with Orom's train went well?" He truly admired Ereinion. During his time as Gil-galad, he had done a splendid job ruling the remainder of the Elven people who yet resided in Arda. Pallando knew that Ereinion had never wanted his role and the power that was given to him as High King – just like he did not want his role now as adviser. There was a need for freedom and adventure in this, Fingolfin's grandson, which Alatar enjoyed, and Olórin and Pallando respected.   
  
Now, those very same traits would prove useful. The need for adventure that Pallando knew burned yet in Ereinion's heart would prove a crucial element in getting the Elf-lord to agree to his plan.   
  
Ereinion looked at him. "How did you know of that?"   
  
"I saw you leave Tirion just as I was entering it," Pallando explained. "But I did not approach you then, for I believed that it would have been better for us to speak of this matter here than amongst baying hounds and thundering hooves."   
  
Ereinion smiled weakly. "I thank you for your consideration." He sat down in another chair, across from the one Pallando took. "What did you wish to discuss with me, My Lord?"   
  
Pallando sat down, carefully schooling his features into a more serious mien. "Fingon, you do not have to leave, for it would be better for you to hear this now than for Ereinion to explain it to you later."   
  
After Fingon sat down in another chair, Pallando told them the little-known story of his journey as the Wizard Rashidi to the Near and Far South of Arda. He told them of how he met and fell in love with his wife, Nephthys, who was the niece of the ruling queen, and of his daughter, Anna.   
  
He was not surprised when he saw the stunned looks on the faces of the Elf-lords when he mentioned his wife and daughter. He knew that the last time there had been a union between one of the Maiar and a Child of Ilúvatar, it had been between Melyanna and Elwë Singollo, who was an Elf. But a union between a Maia and a mortal, and one who was of the South, at that? It was unheard of, and unprecedented.   
  
After he had told his story, Pallando sat back, and waited for his listeners to react.   
  
Fingon leaned forward, his face showing that he was still trying to digest what he had just heard. "If all is as you say," he said slowly, "then your daughter still remains in Arda." He looked up. "But should she not be here, with you? Surely the Valar would have allowed your daughter to return with you."   
  
"I did not bring her with me because I was uncertain of what My Lord would say," Pallando explained. "If my wife had been one of the Quendi – one of your people – as had been the case with Melyanna and Elwë, then I would have brought my family with me across the Sundering Seas and into Aman. But that is not so. My wife is mortal, and she has gone to the place where all those born of the mortal race go to when they have died."   
  
He stood up, and walked to the nearby window. He gazed upon the city of Tirion, for night had come, and it glimmered with the many lamps and torches that were lit in the streets and in many households. It was a glorious sight, one that he had always told in stories to his daughter: the beautiful lights of Tirion glimmering against the crystal stairways and the silvery fountains. To her and his wife only did he tell who he really was, and it was to them that he bequeathed his symbols as a Wizard: to his daughter, his ivory staff, crafted for him by his fellow Maiar in the service of Aulë; and to his wife, as a wedding gift, a beautiful ring crafted also by Aul's smiths using silver and pearls, all set in the shape of a lily – a rare flower in the South, and one held in the highest esteem by those who lived there.   
  
He shook his head, clearing his mind of the memories as he looked once more to the Elf-lords behind him.   
  
"But my daughter…in her veins runs my blood and that of her mother. I was not certain whether I could bring her with me, so I left her there. I had hoped to forget, these past fifteen years that have come and gone since I returned here, but a father can never forget his child. I asked for a boon from Ulmo, asking them to allow my daughter to at least make a choice between mortality and immortality, and that boon has been granted. Now, all that must be done is for me to send a small group of the Quendi to Arda by the leave of My Lords, to inform my daughter, and bring her here if she chooses immortality."   
  
Fingon's brow furrowed. "Then why come to my son, Master Pallando?"   
  
"I spoke to Olórin, and he told me that Lord Ereinion was the most perfectly suited for this mission."   
  
Just as Pallando expected, Fingon reacted by standing up from his seat in protest. "Master Pallando," Fingon began heatedly, his gray eyes flashing fire; "while it is certainly flattering that you and Master Olórin hold my son in such high esteem, I do not think you have the right to bring him into this!"   
  
Pallando sighed, and shook his head. He had foreseen that this would happen. And Fingon has every right to oppose me, he thought. He was sending his son and only child to a potential death in Arda: a second death in lands that had been unexplored by the Quendi, and thus lands that were potentially dangerous to those of their kind.   
  
_"Remember whom you choose for this venture,"_ Olórin's words rang in his mind. _"Try to avoid those who are married as much as possible. In fact, I suggest that you avoid them altogether. A wife will do anything to keep her husband with her – especially if they have been separated for a long time."_ There was something in the way that Olórin had said those words that indicated Pallando should avoid asking Finrod son of Finarfin, or Elrond son of Eärendil: the both of them were married already – Finrod had wed Amarië of the Vanyar, while Elrond was married to Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel.   
  
"Father," Ereinion cut in then, his voice quiet though it seemed to cut into the now-silent room like a sword slash, "let Master Pallando finish. I wish to hear what he has to say about this mission."   
  
Fingon whirled around to face his son. "Ereinion, I cannot believe you are even considering this! Surely you know what awaits you there-"   
  
Pallando looked up at Ereinion, his gaze meeting that of the Noldo's. "Fire, blood, and war. Those are what shall greet you once you cross the Sundering Seas and return to Arda. I will not lie to you, Lord Ereinion: the South is not a pleasant place to be at this point in time. The mages are all in a mad scramble for power, whatever form that power may take. The people of Umbar seek to gain an advantage over Gondor and Arnor by increasing the power of their mages and other magic-users, and thus wreak havoc and vengeance on the Reunited Kingdom. That is their ultimate goal.   
  
"But they can do no such thing until they have managed to find an artifact powerful enough for the task – or a person whom they can manipulate to their own ends." He turned to Fingon. "My Lord, do you remember Lúthien Tinúviel?"   
  
Fingon blinked at the question, but nodded slowly. "Yes, I remember."   
  
"Do you remember the magic that she was able to wield?"   
  
Again, another nod. "Yes, I remember the tales. She was able to send Morgoth to sleep by the sound of her voice. And with that same voice, she was able to strike a bargain with Mandos, thus allowing her and Beren to live another life in Arda, though as mortals."   
  
Pallando smiled slightly. "Those powers are but a few of the gifts that are part and parcel of those born with Maiar blood. Lúthien was able to control hers to such an extraordinary degree because of her mother's tutelage.   
  
"But my daughter had no such guidance. I was only able to teach her the barest grasps of control during her childhood years, but that was not enough. It was never enough. She is dangerous, both to herself and to the people around her. If something should happen to her that will force her to abandon her control completely, the effects would be disastrous."   
  
Ereinion looked at him with shadowed eyes. "What sort of effects might these be, My Lord?"   
  
"Have you ever seen someone try to boil water in a covered container without any holes to let out the steam?"   
  
Ereinion nodded, and opened his mouth as if to say that he did not see the connection of that with his daughter, but before any words could get past his lips, realization flashed through his eyes, and he closed his mouth. His face became pale, and he leaned back into his chair, horror prominent on his features.   
  
Pallando smiled sadly. "Yes, My Lord. That is one of the possible results that could happen should she lose control of her gifts. It is a very gruesome possibility, but a possibility nonetheless.   
  
"Yet the world around her poses a threat to her as well. As I said earlier, the nations of the South are engaged in a war wherein they seek out objects or people who have the most magical power, and use them to their own ends. I fear that my daughter, should her true strengths become known, may be used by those of wicked intent to further their own ambitions. The people of Umbar have long been bitter about their loss at the hands of Aragorn Elessar during the Battle of Pelargir, and during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. They will try all they can to avenge themselves of that loss."   
  
He turned to look at the two Elf-lords. "The fate of Arda hangs by a fragile thread, a thread that can easily be severed, and then the world will descend into chaos and darkness. Your goal is to retrieve my daughter, but in doing so, you prevent the world of Men from falling back into savagery and anarchy."   
  
Fingon snorted. "Why should we be further involved in the affairs of the Secondborn? They have inherited Arda; we have no right to interfere with what they do there. That is why our people left Arda: because it was no longer our duty to remain as custodians of that land, and we have passed it on to the Edain."   
  
"The Lords do not entirely forget the Edain and the other people of Arda," Pallando said softly, "though they may have chosen to separate the Undying Lands from the Circles of the World. While Men may have the capacity for untold evil, they also have the capacity for untold goodness. And it is because of that – along with the many deeds of heroism and courage that those of their race have done – that they remember their obligation to the Secondborn."   
  
"What Master Pallando says is true," Ereinion said. His voice was nostalgic, and Pallando knew that the Elf-lord was reminiscing times gone by. "Elendil… He was not only a King of his people, but he was a dear friend to me. I was not able to repay the debt I owe him and his line: as he saved my kingdom in the Second Age of Arda, so was I supposed to save his during the Last Alliance." He chuckled wryly then. "Obviously, I failed miserably. But now I have a chance to repay that debt, though it is several thousand years overdue."   
  
Fingon's eyes narrowed as he glared at his son. "Ereinion, are you saying that you will join Master Pallando's cause?"   
  
"Yes." Ereinion turned to look back at his father, and determination shone brightly in his eyes. "I will. If I can somehow save Elendil's line from destruction…if I can prevent another war from being fought…" He smiled slightly. "I cannot leave my debt to Elendil's house unpaid, Father – not when I am given an opportunity to repay it."   
  
Pallando smiled at Ereinion, and bowed to him. "I am grateful, My Lord, that you are willing to go on such a risky venture."   
  
Ereinion chuckled, and grinned at Pallando. "I am ready for anything, My Lord, as long as it can get me away from the dreary duties at the court."   
  
Fingon quirked a small smile. "I had guessed as much. So you really are desperate to run away from your duties?"   
  
"I would much rather think of it as the adventure I never got to have," Ereinion replied with a shrug.   
  
Pallando smiled. Father and son would have much to talk about, it would seem. He bowed to them then, and said, "Forgive me, My Lords, but I must beg my leave of you for now. I believe that you have much to talk about, and I do not wish to interfere."   
  
Fingon nodded. "Stay the night, at least, My Lord. You would do us much honor if you did."   
  
"I accept, My Lord, and I thank you for the offer." With another bow, he turned around, and left the study, leaving Ereinion and Fingon to talk to each other behind closed doors.


	6. Chapter 5: The Threads Tangle

**Chapter Five: The Threads Tangle**

They were playing the drums again. It was _far_ too early for that. There was no emergency – there _should_ be no emergency. Their best warriors, along with a group of warrior-priestesses from Sakhmet's temple and a troop of elite Horus [1] Mdjai [2] managed to beat off the Umbarians from the town of Ahzel-Therman, on the West Bank of the River Eshe [3]. That had sent a clear message to the Umbarians that the Lisimba [4] Tribe – indeed, the rest of Khemet – would not allow themselves to be trampled into the sands without a fight.

And when the pain hit her, she realized that what she was hearing wasn't the war drums at all. It was her head, throbbing excruciatingly.  
  
She groaned, and turned over, burying her face into the pillow. This was wrong, she told herself, and completely unfair. That was the _last_ time she was ever going to touch Elder Sudi's beer. It was simply too strong for her to handle. It made her wonder sometimes, how Bomani and Thabit and all the rest of them managed to drink more than three mugs without slumping to the ground.  
  
"Are you awake now?"  
  
The voice was muffled when it came through her brain. It sounded like Senbi's voice. Well, that makes sense, she thought. If she had been ill because of drink, then she was probably in her tent, and Senbi would make her sit up and drink that foul-tasting brew of hers that she gave to all those who were drunk the night before. Without opening her eyes, she reached out, her hand searching for her father's staff that she always placed to the left of her pallet.  
  
But her fingers grasped nothing but air.  
  
She sat up instantly, her head pounding in protest as black and red spots swam in her vision. She groaned in pain, clapping her hand to her forehead, but it did nothing to ease the pain.  
  
She felt a hand pressing against her shoulder, forcing her to lie back down. "Easy now," the voice told her, calm and soothing. "You are still weak. If you keep moving then the wounds in your shoulder might open up again."  
  
Wounds? Memory came flashing back into her head: the tower in Umbar, the Archmage, her father's staff, the wyverns-  
  
"Who are you?" she demanded as she tried to sit up, only to have firm hands come down on her shoulders and hold her down against the bed. She looked up, trying to see who was keeping her down, but she could not see beyond the red and black spots that still swam in her vision. A horrid feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. "Have I been drugged?"  
  
"No," replied a voice that came from above and to the right. The stranger – a woman, from the sound of the voice – spoke Common Tongue quite fluently, but her accent was different. It didn't sound like the Common that the Khemetians spoke. "Whatever medicines we have used on you are solely to help you heal and to prevent infection."  
  
She forced herself to focus on that voice, and she clung to it the way a thirsty man clings to his water bottle in the middle of the desert. If she had something to focus on, she knew that she'd be able to get herself out of this accursed daze sooner. "And who are you? Where am I?"  
  
"We are friends, and you are in my cottage, on the borders between Rûmenyen and Khemet." This was a new voice, and it sounded masculine. The accent of this new speaker was similar to that of the first one, meaning that they were from the same country. Her forehead crinkled involuntarily in thought, which still did not come easily to her. Rûmenyen? She was in Rûmenyen? No, not entirely. On the border, that was what the voice said, on the border between Rûmenyen and Khemet.  
  
Close to home, but not close enough. At least, she thought, I am out of Umbar.  
  
The bed shifted beneath her as someone sat down on the edge of it. "Can you sit up?"  
  
Could she? She did not quite trust her strength yet, to be truthful, but she did not wish to appear weak before these strangers. "Yes, I believe I can." Slowly, slowly, she sat up, pushing herself up onto her elbows first, and then forcing her torso forward so that she was sitting up. Though this was such an ordinary gesture to her, at the moment it was as if her body was made of granite, and it took such a great effort to just sit up.  
  
A small cup of something hot was thrust into her hand. "Here, drink this," said the feminine voice that had spoken to her first. "It will ease the pain and clear your mind up a little."  
  
Still feeling quite wary, she lifted the cup to her nose, and sniffed it. It was a tea made from boiled willow bark – the same thing that Senbi brewed for those who had headaches or backaches or some such thing. She sniffed the steam again, once, twice, just to make sure that nothing else had been mixed in with it, and then brought the cup down to her lips to take a sip. She grimaced at the bitterness of the concoction, but even as the hot liquid slid down her throat she could already feel the throbbing in her head beginning to lessen. Even the spots in front of her eyes were beginning to clear.  
  
Gradually, her vision cleared, the pain lessened, and she was able to think coherently. But with coherent thought came caution, and wariness. She had no weapons with her, but she felt that she had just enough strength to cast a spell that would give her enough time to run away, should these so-called "friends" turn out to be something other than that.  
  
She watched as a hand took the now-empty cup from her hands. She looked up, and was greeted by the face of a woman. She seemed quite young, though on her face the lines of care and worry were already beginning to form. Her hair was long and black, worn in a braid down her back. Her eyes were black as well, and had the distinct almond shape of the Rûmenyans.  
  
The woman smiled slightly at her as she carefully slid the cup out of her hands. "Are you still in pain?"  
  
She shook her head slowly, carefully, so as to make sure that she didn't send the world spinning again. "No, not so much." Her eyes narrowed then. "Who are you?"  
  
The woman stood, and bowed in Rûmenyan warrior-style: bringing her hands up to her chest, her right hand became a fist, while her left remained open. As she bowed from the waist, she lightly punched her fist against her open palm, which closed around her fist, while the contact produced a soft smack. "I am Wei Ting Kuoh, a Swordhand of Rûmenyen. Please, address me simply as Wei." She straightened up, and gazed at her steadily. "And what is your name?"  
  
"I am Anna Nefertari, of Khemet, but you may call me Anna," she replied quietly, lowering her eyes slightly in the poor mimic a bow. Good manners dictated that she should imitate the greeting just offered to her, but she could not. She was too afraid that if she bowed, the blood would come rushing to her head and the end the respite she had from the pain.  
  
Wei nodded slowly, solemnly. "I see." She nodded to the other person behind her – the male, Anna speculated. "Shall you introduce yourself now? It is only proper."  
  
The man stepped forward, revealing his face to Anna. He was a rather handsome fellow, if a little old. He was quite tall for a Rûmenyan, and from the way he carried himself he seemed to be a warrior, just as Wei was. His face, however, showed that he was older, and she sensed something that seemed vaguely like tired resignation in him. And, unlike Wei, who had black hair and onyx eyes, this fellow had blonde hair and green eyes.  
  
It was then that Anna remembered. This man was one of the Doran, the legendary Horsemasters of Rûmenyen.  
  
The man bowed to her in the same way that Wei did, and he spoke, his voice soft and – it seemed to Anna at least – weary. "I welcome you to my humble home, Mistress Anna. I am Magtìr Teididh, a warrior. You may call me Magtìr."  
  
"Then call me Anna." She lowered her gaze from his, and said, "I thank you for taking such good care of me, Master Magtìr. I would offer you the same courtesy if ever you should find yourself of need of it in my country."

* * *

Wei smiled slightly when she heard that comment from the young woman who was sitting in Magtìr's bed at that moment. She knew enough about Khemetian culture to know that she would have greeted them in the same manner that they had greeted her, but she suspected that Anna refused to bow her head for fear of making the pain come back. It was something she could easily relate to, being a warrior herself.  
  
And, judging from the soft crackle of magic that surrounded Anna, she was a powerful mage as well. A Water mage, if Wei was not mistaken.  
  
"I think it would be best if I went and got you something to eat," Wei said as she stood up. "I will go and get some of the stew."  
  
She exited the room, heading for the kitchen. She picked up one of the bowls that lay near the washing basin, and filled it with a hefty serving of the stew that had been simmering in the pot over the small wood-fired stove nearby.  
  
The bowl was half-filled when Magtìr came in. She sensed him pause a moment in the doorway, before walking towards one of the chairs at the table and sinking down into it.  
  
Wei allowed a small smile to twist her face, though she did not show it to him. "Have you begun questioning her already?"  
  
"Not yet," Magtìr replied. "I thought it better if she had something in her stomach first. Maybe that will make her more conducive to questioning."  
  
"I did not expect to hear that from you, Magtìr. I had thought that you would be questioning her already. After all, was it not you who said before that it is always better to question a prisoner before feeding them? You said that it gave them less time to cover up and lie."  
  
"That was long ago, in another place, another lifetime. Everything is different now. I am no longer that man."  
  
"Well, perhaps you should be that man." Wei turned around, and faced Magtìr. Softening her voice, she said, "The Empire needs you now, more than ever. Rûmenyen needs you, Magtìr."  
  
Magtìr scowled, his eyes darkening from spring-green to storm-jade. "I thought we had closed that topic last night. It does not need me. It is better off without me."  
  
Wei felt her expression harden. How dare he! How dare he be so selfish! She stood in front of him, and gritted out four icy words: "You are a fool."  
  
"I left because I saw what was wrong. I did as my conscience dictated." He turned his darkened eyes to her, and those viridian depths seemed to mock her. "But what about you, Wei? You remain there, even though you know, in the very depths of your soul, that it is wrong. Who is the greater fool between us, in that case: I, who has followed my conscience, or you, who blindly follows what is wrong for the sake of appearances?"  
  
"I remain because I still know what honor means," Wei all but hissed, her grip on the bowl tightening.  
  
"Is there honor to be found in pretending? Is there honor to be found in lying to yourself?"  
  
"I believe that if I do what is honorable, I can change what has gone wrong!" She paused to collect her composure, before uttering a mirthless laugh. "Is there honor to be found in running away from your country? Do you think you have found it out here, in the wilds, meditating like a hermit? If you do, please be so kind as to inform me, and I will gladly take it back to where it should be. To where you should be."  
  
Magtìr held her gaze a moment longer, and then turned away. Wei waited for him to speak, but when he made no indication of doing such a thing, she scowled, and walked to his room, where Anna was waiting.

* * *

Magtìr watched as Wei exited the kitchen, heading for his room. When she was out of earshot, he uttered the sigh he had been suppressing, and buried his head in his hands.  
  
Was he being dishonorable? I have done nothing but follow my conscience, he thought defensively. I have only done what I believed was right at the time. I continue to do what I believe is right. That is the way of honor.  
  
But was it the _only_ honorable path? He knew that he would be lying if he said that it was. He could have stayed on, and he could have made a difference. He could have changed what was wrong.  
  
He also knew that he was useless dead.  
  
Was he a coward, then, for running away when his liege-lord needed him the most? He was once the Captain of the Guards of the Shield, dedicated chiefly to the defense of the Emperor. Honor dictated that he was supposed to stay by his Emperor's side, no matter what – even if it meant yielding his own life.   
  
He had left because his mere presence was a threat to the Emperor's life. Yet in doing so, he had quite literally thrown his Emperor into the tigers' den.  
  
He closed his eyes, memories of a rather painful nature running through his head.  
  
Had he done what was right?  
  
That was the question he had warred with the past five years he had been living out here in the wilderness. His conscience and his training clashed in his mind, raising a cacophony that he had struggled to suppress the last five years.  
  
He pushed the chair back, and left the cottage, heading outside and for a wide, flat piece of rock that stood just by the water's edge. He sat down, cross-legged, on the rock, and rested his hands on his knees, closing his eyes as he focused his whole being on finding that place of quiet deep within his soul. He knew that if he could reach that place, the cacophony in his mind – along with all the hurtful memories – would subside.  
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. He felt his entire body relax as the noises of the world began to fade away into the background.  
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. He felt his heart slowing gradually, as did his breathing.  
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. His limbs went limp, and he whispered a soft, relaxed sigh. He had reached the Quiet Place. And from that place, nothing could harm him, nothing could interrupt him, and he could find respite from his memories – and his guilt.  
  
This was an escape, an escape from the inner turmoil of his soul.  
  
But beyond, in the wide existence that continued beyond the little pocket he inhabited, the world spun closer and closer towards the deadly axis of chaos and darkness. And while he could not feel it, isolated as he was from it in his Quiet Place, there were others who could.

* * *

_Her sandaled feet pattered rapidly down the Endless Hallway, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to inhale more air. She did not know how long she would have to run, but she knew that once the time was right, a sign would call to her and tell her to halt.  
  
On either side of her, tall columns of carved and painted sandstone soared up to support a ceiling she could not see. The images and the glyphs on the columns swam like fish through water. When she looked, the images and the writing danced away from her view, or became so distorted that she could not read them anyway.  
  
And then, off to her left, she saw it: a doorway. Knowing that this was the sign she had been waiting for, she veered off to the left, and ducked into the cool, dark space beyond the threshold.  
  
She stopped when she was inside the chamber, and leaned forward, bracing her hands on her knees as she gulped deep drafts of air, as if she were drinking water after a hard day's training under the sun. After she had fully recovered, she raised her head to look around.  
  
Torches that had been placed in sconces along the wall suddenly flamed to life, illuminating the room she was standing in. It was moderate in size, with the floor made of tiles of granite, but it was unlike any type of granite that she had ever encountered before: it was as black as fine onyx, but flecked with tiny sparkling pieces of quartz and pyrite. In the light of the torches, it seemed as if she was walking upon the night sky as it arched over the isolated reaches of the desert.  
  
Her gaze shifted upwards to look upon the walls, and she could not suppress the gasp that escaped her lips. There were paintings upon the walls, beautiful and brightly colored, as if made by the most skilled of artists. Yet there was something about these paintings, something that she could not place, that told her they came not from human hands.  
  
She approached the left-most wall, and gazed upon the mural. It showed a city majestic to behold, with mansions of white and gold, and high walls that shimmered silver in the light. There was a large palace upon a hill, she saw, and it rose above the protective walls so that it seemed to float above the walls and in the sky. Beyond the palace lay the deep, glimmering sea, where white-sailed ships crossed the waves with grace and beauty. And, surmounting the palace was a round, golden plaque, shaped like a sun with nine rays beaming from the center. In the middle of the sun was an elegant serpent, its body twisted and twining around in a complicated knot.  
  
But even as she gazed upon the plaque, the gold seemed to dim as a dark, festering mold spread over it from the center. The mold spread over the surface of the gold to the rest of the painting, diminishing the beauty of the brilliant colors. And then, when the mold had spread over the entire mural, the picture suddenly crumbled to dust, as if it had not even been there.  
  
A chill spread in her veins when she saw what had happened. But she did not have time to wonder, for her feet were suddenly moving her to the next mural.  
  
This painting depicted a seaside village, quiet and peaceful. There were houses in the branches of the trees, she saw, and there were even houses in the shallow waters, built on platforms that were stilted above the softly flowing tides. Children and adults alike swam in the water, or mended nets and boats on the shore, while in another part of the painting divers rose up from the sea with pouches overflowing with precious pearls. Swimming amongst the divers and the swimmers were dolphins – graceful, cheerful creatures that were a rare sight in the stretch of ocean that was a part of Khemet's southern territory.  
  
But then, fire seemed to suddenly spring up from the forest, consuming all in its path. The blue of the sea then ran red, and she did not know whether it was just a reflection of the fires or it was from blood. And when the bloodied water finally touched the shore, fine cracks ran through the painting, and it fragmented into small pieces, each piece shattering to dust the moment it hit the floor.  
  
Again, a chill crept through her body, but once more her feet moved her, and there was nothing she could do.  
  
Now she was standing in front of a painting that depicted Yaminah. The image brought a smile to her face. Everything about the city – its temples, the port, the palace, even the market, were portrayed in loving detail. Even the faintest hints of the Towers of Uadjit [5] were visible near the top-left portion of the painting. This was quite true; the towers were indeed visible on days when the air was especially clear, and not clogged with the dust and sand from the desert.  
  
And then, a wind blew through the chamber, and it smelled foul, the way the air smelled when the wind blew the wrong way and wafted over the garbage pit that was dug a fair distance from the city. With the scent came a dark smudge over the painting, spreading from the left, towards the right. It covered the entire painting, until it seemed as if the wall was covered in a thick layer of soot.  
  
She staggered backwards, unable to comprehend the meaning of such a sight. What was this? What were the gods trying to tell her?  
  
The walls fell away then, and the darkness swallowed her up-_

Mié Djeserit's eyes flew open, the dream she was having abruptly cut. She stared at the ceiling, disoriented for a moment, but then, when memory came back to her, she sighed, and closed her eyes a moment, rubbing them gently with her fingertips.  
  
A dream of seeing, the first one she had had in a long while. And it was not as pleasant as she might have liked.  
  
Then again, she thought, when were her visions ever pleasant, especially if they were with regards to the future? Amunet rarely ever brought good news, even to those who were held highest in her favor.  
  
And this new dream of hers was hardly good news at all. Darkness overcoming nations – at least that was what the paintings seemed to her. First a mold spreading over gold, blood over water, and darkness over Yaminah… What did that mean?  
  
She sighed. It was more confusing than would have liked. When Amunet did not speak plainly, it often meant something very important – and very dangerous.  
  
She sat up from her pallet, and realized that she was soaked in sweat. She also realized that it was nearly dawn, and that it was just about time for her to begin training. Clambering out of bed, she removed her sweat-drenched nightclothes, put on dry practice clothes, and headed out of her room.  
  
As she walked down the hallways, she could hear some of the people stirring in their beds, preparing to rise for another day in the Temple of Sakhmet [6]. This would not be an ordinary day for her, however. She would have to pay a visit later to the Temple of Amunet [7] and have her dream interpreted.  
  
It was imperative that she did.

* * *

[1]= He is an ancient Egyptian god of the Sun.   
  
[2]= Egyptian word that means, "soldier"   
  
[3]= Egyptian word that means, "life"   
  
[4]= Egyptian word that means, "lion"   
  
[5]= The Towers of Uadjit are a pair of sandstone watchtowers that stand on the westernmost border of Khemet, so named because they are carved in the likeness of the cobra goddess Uadjit with four faces, each face pointed in the direction of the four cardinal directions. They guard the Lapis Bridge – the only bridge that crosses the River Eshe. Due to the hostilities with Umbar, Khemet's western neighbor, the Towers of Uadjit are considered a very crucial part of the defense against Umbar. There are always soldiers in the towers, to guard the bridge and make sure that Umbar – and other invaders that come from the west – do not use it as a means of getting across the Eshe and into Khemetian territory.   
  
[6]= This is the name of the chief residence of the warrior-priestesses of Sakhmet, and where her devotees come to worship and ask for blessings. It is located on the eastern side of the city of Yaminah, and is famed for the sandstone pillars on the outside, which are carved in the likeness of the lioness-headed goddess of war.   
  
[7]= This is a place that houses many of those who have the gift of Seeing. Amunet is the protector of those who have the ability to glimpse into the future, and it is she who gives out the gift to whomever she favors. Many people come to her temple to have their dreams interpreted, or to have their futures told.


	7. Chapter 6: Last Chance at Redemption

**Chapter Six: One Last Chance at Redemption**

He did not understand why Mandos had chosen him for this quest. He had expected that the Vala would choose Amrod or Amras, but not him, surely not him. He had acted rashly before, had done things that had caused pain to the hearts of many. His actions had, either directly or indirectly, caused the deaths of many, and the suffering of countless more.  
  
And yet here he was, in a new body, whole and well again. He even had his right hand back – the hand that he had lost in Thangorodrim when Fingon came to his rescue.  
  
He smiled softly as he flexed his fingers, testing them. It would take some getting used-to, having his hand back. He had gone for so long without it. He wondered whether he could still wield a sword with it. What an interesting ability that would be, he mused, to wield two swords at the same time, using both hands. He was certain that he had lost none of his skill at wielding a sword with his left hand.  
  
His thoughts drifted back to Fingon, and his smile became broader. He wondered how his dear friend was faring. He knew that Fingon was one of the first Eldar who had died in Arda to be rehoused. It was for no small reason that Fingon was known as the Valiant, and it was obviously for these meritorious deeds that he had won the right to be rehoused and returned to the society of Tirion.  
  
He looked up then, gazing forward as his horse made its way towards the city of Tirion, which began to loom larger and larger on the eastern horizon. A breeze picked up then, lifting his blood-red hair from the nape of his neck and cooling the skin there somewhat. While he was happy to see the city again, a weight also settled in the pit of his stomach. What would the people there say when they saw him? What would they to do him? He inhaled, preparing himself for a very frosty welcome.  
  
The memories of the Quendi are as long as their years, he thought as he came within sight of Tirion's walls. He knew that those who lived in the city would not have forgotten his deeds, and he felt that they would remember more his acts of brutality than his acts of kindness.  
  
He looked upon the Tower of the Mindon, as it rose above the rest of the city, piercing the golden canopy of the afternoon sky. Whether or not he was welcomed with favor in the city was not something he could fix. He could not change history, and he could not undo the fell deeds he had committed in the past. All he could do now was atone for them. All he could do now was seek redemption.  
  
Maedhros, eldest son of Fëanor, straightened up in his saddle, raising his chin slightly. He would redeem himself – and hopefully, in doing so he would redeem his family.  
  
This was his only chance.

* * *

Fingon was in his study, poring over some documents concerning whether Tirion should expand northward or westward, when a knock on his door announced the presence of someone who wished to speak with him.  
  
"Enter, the door is open," he called, not once looking up from the documents he was trying to analyze. The population of Tirion was beginning to grow due to the influx of rehoused Elves from the Halls of Mandos, and so the original bounds of the city were no longer enough. They had to expand to be able to accommodate all the residents. The directions for expansion would either be north or west, and therein lay the problem: Finarfin the High King's council could not come to a conclusion as to which direction the city should expand. In his heart, Fingon favored a westward expansion, but that did present some problems, as Finrod had pointed out during the-  
  
"My Lord Fingon?"  
  
Fingon looked up, and looked upon the face of a rather troubled Elmir – one of the many scholars who resided in the Halls of Fingolfin. "Yes Elmir, was there something you needed?"  
  
Elmir bowed his head slightly. "Your father requests your presence in the Great Hall. There is a…guest who has come looking for you."  
  
Fingon felt something niggling at the back of his mind. The hesitation with which Elmir spoke of the "guest" called his attention more than the fact that there was indeed a guest looking for him. He was certain that he had not invited anyone to the halls that day. And why would his father have to interfere in this, if this "guest" was indeed looking for him? "And who might this guest be?"  
  
Elmir's voice quavered just a little in nervousness when he gave the name. "Lord Maedhros."  
  
Fingon froze at that name. Maedhros? Surely not. He shook his head disbelievingly. Maedhros would not be able to leave the Halls of Mandos. He, his brothers, and his father were fated to remain there until the End, because they had sworn an Oath that was damned from the beginning. He could not leave the Halls.  
  
Could he?  
  
He looked at Elmir, and said, "Tell Father that I shall be arriving shortly."  
  
When Elmir had left the room, Fingon shifted in his chair to stare out the window. Maedhros. Brother-in-arms, dear friend, ally. Fingon knew that Maedhros had done many dark things in the past, things that were tainted by the evil of Morgoth and the Oath, but he also knew that Maedhros was a kind friend, and a devoted ally.  
  
And Fingon still held him thus.  
  
He stood up on rather shaky legs, and walked towards the Great Hall. He only hoped that Fingolfin did not turn Maedhros away before he had a chance to interfere.  
  
The noise emanating from the Great Hall was audible, as Fingon had expected. Nobody in Tirion had anticipated that one of the sons of Fëanor would return, or that the moment he arrived in the city, he would first seek out his dear friend from long ago.

The weight of the years that had gone by weighed heavily on his shoulders as he walked down the stairs to the front of the hall, where the great doors stood. He was suddenly reminded of how long he and Maedhros had been apart, how long it had been since that day when he had fallen, in what was now remembered as the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Maedhros had met his own end, several hundred years later, but by then Fingon was back in the society of Tirion, and had other things to keep him occupied.  
  
And yet, even after all those years, Maedhros still remembered him, and their friendship, and thus chose to come to him, of all the people in Tirion.  
  
That did not mean that he had forgotten the friendship that existed between him and Fëanor's eldest son. He had never forgotten it. He had merely pushed it to the back of his mind until now. There were times, when he was alone, that he thought of the days when he and Maedhros has been together: here in Tirion, during the happy days before the rape of the Silmarils and the swearing of the dreadful Oath; and in Arda, when they had once worked in close alliance with one another, plotting Morgoth's downfall.  
  
He was almost at the doors, and his father stood just ahead of him. Fingolfin's back was turned to him, and it was apparent that he was speaking with someone.  
  
The crowd that had gathered in the hall slowly hushed as he slowed his walk, until he was standing a few feet behind his father, and the crowd went entirely silent. Perhaps sensing that his son had arrived, Fingolfin turned around, and acknowledged Fingon's presence with a small nod before stepping aside.  
  
For a few brief seconds, Fingon felt as if all time were suspended, and that every heartbeat seemed to last a lifetime. He stared at the figure in front of him: tall, even by the standards of the Quendi; deep red hair flashed in the sunlight streaming from the doors; and gray eyes that brimmed with joy stared back at him.  
  
He could scarce believe his eyes, yet there could be only one.  
  
Fingon walked slowly towards the figure, never taking his eyes off the face – a face he had known through many hundreds of years of friendship, a face he had sorely missed. When he was standing just in front of the figure, he offered a small smile, and glanced down at the figure's right arm. "You have your right hand back, I see." He lifted his gaze, and grinned at the merrily twinkling silver orbs that gleamed against the coppery fire of the figure's hair. "I hope that I do not have to cut it off again to save you."  
  
And then Maedhros son of Fëanor, bosom friend of Fingon son of Fingolfin, reached out with his right arm, and clasped it around Fingon in a fond embrace, which Fingon returned enthusiastically.  
  
Maedhros patted him soundly on the back as he drew away, though he let his right hand clasp his friend's shoulder, in the spirit of true friendship. There was a smile on his face as well – a smile Fingon feared had all but disappeared, the last time they had seen the other alive. "I do not think that will be so this time, dear friend. And I certainly want to keep my hand this time."  
  
Fingon laughed, glad that there were some things that had not changed in spite of the many years of separation – like Maedhros' ability to throw swift retorts in response to his sarcastic remarks. He threw an arm around Maedhros' shoulders, and whispered, "I suggest that we head for my study and get away from this gaping crowd."  
  
Maedhros raised an eyebrow at him. "You have a study?"  
  
"Yes. Why? Are you surprised that I have one now?"

Maedhros did not reply: merely chuckled, and shook his head. "Nothing, it was nothing."  
  
Fingon smiled, and the two of them started walking down the hallway, back to his study. "Your arrival was certainly a surprise of the first order, if you managed to lure Father out by doing so. Though it certainly pleases me that you are here."  
  
The smile on Maedhros' face faded a little. "I know that my coming was unexpected, but I did not know whom else to seek out in the city. You were the first person I thought of, and I…felt…that you would not have forgotten our friendship." Pain flickered through his eyes momentarily. "Until I have redeemed myself and my brothers, until I have proven to everyone that the sons of Fëanor have repented of their ancient sins, only then, perhaps, will the people of Tirion look upon us again, if not with favor, then at least with respect."  
  
They were standing in front of the door of Fingon's study, and the dark-haired Noldo was beginning to feel worried about his friend. "Mandos did not let you go because he thought you had atoned enough for your deeds," he said softly, more of a statement than a question  
  
"No, for I have been told that I must find atonement some other way." He looked up at Fingon, and offered another half-smile. "I think it would be best if we sat down, and had something to eat while I told you my story."  
  
Nodding, Fingon wordlessly opened the door, allowing his friend to enter first, before he himself went in, and closed the door.

* * *

He could not help gaping like a landed fish. He stared first at his father, then at his father's guests, and back at his father again.  
  
Fingon smirked at his son. "Come now Ereinion, enough of that. You look as if you had never seen Maedhros before." He indicated his guest with a nod.  
  
"It is not that I have never seen him before, it is that I did not expect to see him again," Ereinion replied as he sank down into a nearby chair. He stared at the floor for a moment, collecting his composure. He had been in his study when Maedhros had arrived that afternoon, completely oblivious to all the excitement that had been going on – mostly because, he ruefully admitted to himself, he had been dozing when it happened.  
  
He looked up, and gazed at Maedhros, who was currently sitting at the window seat, sipping a glass of wine. The last time he had seen Fëanor's eldest son was during the War of Wrath, when he and his brother Maglor fought alongside the countless others who wished to bring Morgoth's realm to ruin.  
  
Then, in the dead of the night, the two of them stole the Silmarils, but because of their wicked deeds the hallowed jewels burned them both. Maglor threw his Silmaril into the sea, and sang as he walked away, never to be seen or heard from again.  
  
Maedhros, on the other hand, met a more gruesome fate: after finding out that he was unworthy of the Silmaril, he jumped into a chasm of fire, taking the Silmaril with him.  
  
Ereinion shook his head to clear the rather disturbing image from his mind. It is inappropriate to think such thoughts, he told himself. He focused once more on Maedhros, and spoke: "My Lord, may I know why you are here? It is surprising to see you out of the Halls of Mandos."  
  
Maedhros chuckled as he set down the goblet on a nearby table. "Yes, so your father has told me."  
  
The mirth slipped away from the red-haired Noldo's face, and Ereinion knew that he was about to tell them why the Valar had allowed him to be rehoused and go forth from the Halls of Mandos, where he and the rest of those who swore the Oath of Fëanor in the Elder Days were doomed to remain.  
  
"The Valar told me that they were giving me a chance to redeem myself and my brothers," he said at last. "They told me that if I completed the tasks that were assigned to me in a satisfactory manner, then they would allow me return to the people of Tirion. If I fail, then I will have to give up this corporeal body of mine and rejoin my brothers and my father in their exile.  
  
"The Valar gave me two tasks to complete. First, I was to join four others of the Quendi to seek out the daughter of Master Pallando, one of Ulmo's vassals."  
  
Ereinion stared at him. "You are to join us in that quest?" he asked softly. "But why? Why would the Valar send you?"  
  
"Because of the second errand," Maedhros replied. He paused a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft: "My second task is this: to find my brother, Maglor, and bring him back, that he may answer to the Valar for his deeds."  
  
Ereinion fell silent at that, wondering whether it was possible or not. No one knew where Maglor had gone after he threw his Silmaril into the sea. When he was ruling as Gil-galad, he had always heard stories and rumors of Maglor being sighted someplace or other. But that was all there ever was: stories, rumors, and nothing more.  
  
"So he is still in Arda," he said softly. "Pardon my saying so, My Lord, but I thought that he was already in the Halls."

Maedhros shook his head. "Maglor has…how shall I say…a fine instinct for survival, if he wishes it so, and I do not mean that in a derogatory manner." He sighed, and bowed his head. "The Valar must deem his remaining in Arda all this time as punishment enough – greater than being forced to remain in the Halls of Mandos. But his time has come, and he must be brought here."  
  
Ereinion nodded. "I see." He smiled slightly. "Well then, I suppose that I must send a messenger to Alqualondë, informing them that provisions must be made for one more companion to the journey."  
  
A shadow passed over Maedhros' face at the mention of Alqualondë, and Ereinion guessed that he was remembering the First Kinslaying. But he did not remark on it, for Maedhros smiled as best as he might then, and nodded. "Yes, that would be a good idea. If I may ask, who else is joining us on this sojourn?"  
  
Ereinion shrugged. "Ecthelion and Glorfindel have volunteered to join us." He grinned at Maedhros. "Surely you remember them?"  
  
Maedhros chortled then. "Indeed I do." He grinned wickedly. "Tell me: does Glorfindel still hunt Tirion to prey upon its finest beauties? I well remember his foibles, in the days when the Two Trees still cast their light upon Tirion's crystal stairways."  
  
Ereinion laughed, while Fingon snorted in the background. "Ah My Lord Maedhros, there is many a tale to tell of that…"****


	8. Chapter 7: The Other Pieces of the Board

**Chapter Seven: The Other Pieces of the Board**

She rose even before the deep-throated sound of the conch horns blared into the mist to greet the arrival of Inang A'raw [1] – as was required of her. She had to be there the moment the sun rose, to make sure that the she was greeted with the honor that she deserved.  
  
She clothed herself with a dress cut from cloth dyed in a deep shade of bronze, with a leaf pattern carefully painted onto it in forest green and sunshine gold. The dress had no sleeves, and the only things that kept it attached to her body were a series of clasps shaped from clam hinges, and those were lined along the left side of the dress. The dress reached only up to her knees, and had slits on either side running parallel to her legs, cut almost up to her hip. When she moved, the slits revealed the tattoos that were drawn along the outside of her thighs: a geometric yet elegant pattern of flowers and vine-like leaves.  
  
She smoothed down the fabric of her dress, sighing. It is another day, she told herself. There were times before when she could easily smile, looking forward to a new day, but during these past turnings of the moon the tide seemed to have changed. There was tension, both in the north and in the west, and the sea wind seemed to carry with it the smell of war.  
  
War. The word, the idea, made her hand tremble a little as she ran a seashell comb through her long hair, dark as the water on nights when Amang Buwan [2] chose not to walk the skies. She did not know what it was like, though her parents used to tell her stories of the tribal wars that went on before she was born. She knew that her mother and father had worked together to bring peace to all the tribes, unifying the divided factions under her grandfather Apo Lesaka's [3] rule. When he died the year before she was born, her parents took over governance of the tribes.  
  
And now that both her mother and her father were dead, the responsibility of leading was passed on to her. Which was why the troubles of the north and west worried her – she did not have the experience that was necessary to guide her people through a nation in war.  
  
But if I must, then I will, she told herself as she set her lips into a straight, determined line. She carefully placed the comb down on the low table in front of her, reaching for the band of braided leather that she often used to tie her hair back from her face. She looked at her reflection on the smooth, polished surface of the bronze mirror in front of her, and nodded satisfactorily. It was enough for her that her hair was tied away from her face, though if her father had seen her that way he would have insisted on braiding her hair.  
  
A small smile graced her face when she thought of him. When she was young, her father always paid particularly close attention to her hair, weaving it into braids that he would then coil around her head like a chaplet, or making several small ones that would dance through the strands that he had left unbraided. During special feast days, he would weave gold thread, sometimes even pearls, along with her hair when making the braids.  
  
But he was not there to braid her hair anymore. He had disappeared in a storm almost ten years ago, a storm so violent that even the dolphins could not save him. And when everyone realized that he was never coming back, her mother lost the will to live, and died the following year.  
  
From that day on she had had to grow up quickly. She had to learn how to fight; how to make good decisions; how to be strong…how to be a leader of her people. She had to, because she owed it to her parents. This was the legacy they had given her, and she would make them proud.  
  
She gave herself one last look in the mirror, and then stood up, pushing aside the curtain made from strands of small cowry shells strung together on thread that separated her room from the rest of the house. Her bare feet padded along the hardwood floor, her gold anklets producing a soft jingling sound as she walked. She climbed down the stepladder that led from the raised house to the beach.  
  
Inang A'raw had not risen yet, but her radiance was already beginning to make the sky lighten. She looked up, and watched as the bright Viray ng Kalangitan [4] herded the stars back beyond the distant line of the horizon.  
  
That particular star always seemed to exert a faint call to her, a call that she did not understand. Perhaps she was merely attracted to its beauty, to its clear, bluish-white flame that seemed brighter and more enduring than that of the other stars around it. But her father was always sad when he saw it. There was something on this face that seemed like regret, but when she asked about it he always smiled and said that it was not something for little girls to be asking about.  
  
He promised that he would tell her someday, but that day never came.  
  
She inhaled, the scent of the sea breeze tickling her nostrils. Somewhere inside the reef she could hear the dolphins chattering, playing as they greeted the morning in their own fashion. The conch horns raised their voices to the sky, their sound echoing across the water.  
  
Another day, another cycle of life: it began, ended, and began anew, as many things did, whether in the span of a day, a week, another turning of the moon, or in another year. All things begin and end, but come back again, new, changed.  
  
Babaylan Sinag-Tala then raised her arms to the sky, and chanted a welcome to Inang A'raw as a new dawn flamed over Ma'yi, her gray eyes – the only one of their kind amongst a people known for their dark, gold-and-shadow beauty – flaring almost to starshine in the light.  
  
And in that moment, she knew this: there is no end. There are only new beginnings.  
  
Even if that beginning is the beginning of war.

* * *

Sunlight filtered in, tempered and muted, through the paper-screened windowpanes of his private chambers. The world outside was warm and bright, but in his chambers, the light was cold. "And he refused to return?"  
  
Wei Ting Kuoh shook her head sadly. "I am sorry, Your Majesty. He refused to come back."  
  
He nodded slowly, carefully hiding his disappointment and regret. He had hoped, with all his heart, that Wei would be able to bring Magtìr Teididh back, but it seemed that there was, indeed, no one who could convince he who was once the greatest of the Imperial Generals to return – even if that person was the woman who was one of the people he cared for most in the world.  
  
He smiled bitterly then. He really does keep to his decisions, he thought. Magtìr Teididh was known for that: he kept his word, even if it meant breaking hearts and hurting those who loved him the most. It was because of that that he had untainted honor.  
  
But was there honor to be gained in hurting others? In breaking hearts? In abandoning those you love?  
  
Deep in his heart, Xin Teni, the young Emperor of Rûmenyen, believed that was not the case – that it _should not_ be the case.  
  
Magtìr only thought of protecting me, he told himself. When Magtìr left five years ago, it had been because he believed that his presence would only cause danger to Xin – who, at twelve, was still quite young for a ruler, even in a country that had a tradition of placing boy-princes on the throne. And, since his Code required him to do anything to ensure the safety of the Emperor – even if it meant giving up his own life – he left Rûmenyen without a word, bidding farewell only to Xin and to Wei.  
  
He reached out then, and laid a hand on Wei's shoulder. When the older woman glanced at him, he smiled at her. "It is alright, Wei. If he does not wish to come back, then it would be best to let him have his way. I have never known Magtìr to do anything without a reason behind it."  
  
He held her gaze for a while, and then turned away. He gazed upon a silk hanging that depicted the Imperial Crest of Rûmenyen: a golden dragon superimposed on a sun disk with nine rays, set against a crimson background – the royal color of Rûmenyen. "Wei," he began, "what is the Creed?" The Creed, as it was called, was a summary of all the virtues the Rûmenyans valued the most. It was one of the most basic things taught to children from the moment they are old enough to remember it. Xin knew it, of course, but to hear it from someone else's mouth was another thing entirely from when one was saying it to oneself.  
  
There was a pause, and then Wei replied: "These are the tenets of the Creed: fight with Courage for Peace and Unity. Strive for Beauty, Discipline and Balance. Treasure Wisdom and Loyalty. Attain these, and you will have Honor."  
  
Xin said nothing, merely continued to stare at the hanging.  
  
"Do you support him then?" Wei asked after another long pause, and a bolt of pain lanced through Xin's heart at the tone of her words. Her voice hitched slightly. "It was right of him, then, to abandon _you_?"  
  
"There are many ways of putting the Creed into practice," Xin said quietly. "What Magtìr did was one of those."  
  
"But you are the Emperor. You could have ordered him to stay."  
  
"I cannot force my will upon him in such a manner," Xin explained gently as he turned around to look at her once more. "Even if I had ordered him to stay, he would have left, regardless."  
  
"His honor would have impelled him to stay," argued Wei.  
  
Xin shook his head. "His honor would have impelled him to leave. His honor goes beyond that which is bound by the promises of service and guardianship. No, he serves the country and his Emperor in the best way he knows how – even if it means going against all other conventions."  
  
Wei bowed her head. "So you say, Your Majesty. So you say."  
  
"He will come back," Xin said quietly. "I am sure of it. He will return when he believes that it is right for him to – when he is needed again. I trust him that much." He turned to her, and smiled. "And so must you."  
  
But he could tell, from the look in her eyes, that she only partially believed him.

* * *

Eldarion stared pensively out the window of his chambers, his gaze focused on the distant south. He smiled slightly to himself. How odd, he thought, that his father had often feared war from the east. Now, in his reign, war came to him from the south.  
  
What would Father have done? He asked himself that question every time he was faced with a decision, whether personal or one that concerned the kingdom. Aragorn Elessar was reputed to be one of the greatest Kings of Men who had ever been born on Arda. He was loved by his people and respected both by his allies and his enemies – though the latter would accept that fact only grudgingly.  
  
Eldarion had realized, even before his father's death, that he had a rather impressive legacy to live up to. Oh, he loved his father, there was no doubt about that, but there were times when he felt a little unsure of himself. He had no desire to overshadow his father's achievements with his own – that, he believed, was an impossible undertaking. But he did feel the need to at least match his father's accomplishments, if not in war, then at least in governing the kingdom.  
  
He sighed, and moved away from the window, heading to the desk that stood not that far away. To run the kingdom the way his father had was, simply put, a task difficult enough by itself, without adding the further complication of impeding war.  
  
His father had tried to prevent it. He remembered that much, at least. Many emissaries had been sent to the warring states of Khemet and Umbar, offering to broker a peace treaty between the two, but the attempt to reconcile the nations failed. And now, with hostilities escalating, he felt that the war would come to Gondor somehow. The ships of Dol Amroth, after all, were very tempting targets for the Umbarians.  
  
There was a letter lying on his desk, and it carried the symbol of Dol Amroth on the wax seal that held the envelope closed. Sensing that this had something to do with his thoughts at the moment, he broke the seal, and unfolded the letter that was contained inside. It read thus:  
  
_To My Lord Eldarion,  
  
I bid you hail and greetings, my friend. How fares the White City? I hope that everything is well with you in Minas Tirith.  
  
It has been long since I last sent you a letter, but I am afraid that this one contains no good tidings.  
  
As you may recall, your father once sent emissaries to Khemet and Umbar in an attempt to reconcile the two nations, to no avail. Now, the war escalates to a fever pitch, and, judging from the reports that my spies have sent back to me, they are gathering an immense navy. At present, there are already more than ten warships ready for use in their port, with another twenty being made even as I write this to you. But I doubt that the Umbarians will find such a formidable fleet sufficient.  
  
My Lord, there have been sightings of small Umbarian fishing boats floating too close to the havens of Dol Amroth, and I do not think that these are mere fishing vessels. They drift too close to the ships in the port, and although they are easily sent on their way by the guards and sailors aboard these ships, the following day they have returned.  
  
There is something foul going on in Umbar, and it is not mere preparations for a war against a neighboring country. While I do not wish to alarm you overmuch, there is something in my heart that tells me there is a greater doom that is yet to arrive, and that the war of Umbar against Khemet is merely the beginning. And whatever that doom may be, it will fall upon Gondor as well.  
  
My friend, you may think that I am being silly, but I am merely voicing out what I sense and what I think. Whether you heed my words or not, is entirely your decision, and I hope that, in this instance, you will prove me wrong. But at the moment, I will have to take measures to ensure the safety of the people in the city. When everything has been made secure, I will make the journey to Gondor, and we may speak of these things better.  
  
Until we meet again, my friend.  
  
Your loyal friend and faithful servant,  
  
Adrahil II, Prince of Dol Amroth_  
  
Chill was the blood that flowed through Eldarion's veins as he refolded the letter and placed it back in its envelope. So he was not alone in thinking that something was about to happen. While he was partially glad that someone else shared his fears, he was also worried, because it made what could possibly have been imaginings and idle speculations into a real threat.  
  
He lifted his head, and stared out the window once more. All was calm and peaceful in the Reunited Kingdom. But that peace was about to be sorely tried, and he did not know whether he would be able to hold it.  
  
"I wish you were here, Father," he murmured, burying his face in his hands. "You would know what to do."

* * *

[1]= This is what the Ma'yen call Arien (the Sun). The Ma'yen believe that all the divinities of the world are like parents, watching over their people, and so address these divinities as Ina ("mother") or Ama ("father"), depending on whether said divinity is masculine or feminine.  
  
[2] = This is what the Ma'yen call Tilion (the Moon).  
  
[3]= The title "Apo" means "old one" or "wise one," and is applied to elders both male and female. Apo Lesaka was the father of Dilag Dayanghirang, and grandfather of Sinag-Tala.  
  
[4]= "Viray" is the Ilocano word for "ship," while "kalangitan" is the Tagalog word for "the heavens." "Ng" is a connecting word, which means "of." Basically, the entire phrase means "Ship of the Heavens," which is a reference to Eärendil, and his ship, Vingilot, as they sailed across the sky in the last hours of darkness just before the dawn.


	9. Chapter 8: The Beginning of a Journey

**Chapter Eight: The Beginning of a Journey**

Silver sails billowed in the breeze, snapping when the wind blew stronger than usual. The timbers of the white ship creaked quietly as the waters of the sea lapped gently at its sides, caressing it like the hand of a lover.

He could not help smiling at that analogy. It is the hand of the mariner that guides the ship, so it is the mariner and the sea that are lovers. And it was not surprising to know that many a mariner had given their hearts to the sea, taking the swift winds as their mistress, the salt sprays as their wife. Once a person's heart had been lured by the music of Ulmo's realm, there was no turning back. Nothing could compete with that song.

Except, perhaps, the hypnotic melody of adventure.

His smile became broader at the prospect. Adventure at last, he thought. He now had the chance to journey through lands unseen, lands that even his father, Círdan, had never ventured to. He would be going to places that no eyes save those of the Valar had ever seen before.

For Telpeär, son of Círdan, there could be no song sweeter than the song of a long voyage to Arda. How he had longed to see the lands that his father spoke of both with joy and regret. As a child, he had listened to his father exchange stories with Olwë, Lord of Alqualondë: stories of Kinslayings and Silmarils, of Sirion and Doriath and Nargothrond and Gondolin, of wars and Darkness and Morgoth. He had listened to these tales with rapt attention, dreaming of a time when he, too, would become worthy of tales and legends, of sailing to unknown lands and meeting strange races and peoples.

Now, he thought, now was his chance.

He chuckled when he remembered the day that Pallando, Maia of Ulmo, came riding into Alqualondë with Ereinion Gil-galad, Ecthelion and Glorfindel. He remembered the meeting with this father, wherein it was asked whether he, Telpeär, would be willing to set sail with them to Arda on a quest of great importance. For they were to seek out Master Pallando's daughter, and bring her back to Aman should she choose to be immortal; in doing so, they would prevent the outbreak of a war that may last several Ages of the world.

He could not resist. Before Master Pallando had even finished, he declared that it would be a great honor for him to be a part of the venture. And why should he not? He believed that a chance such as this might never come again, and if he allowed it to slip through his fingers, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

And for an Elf, a lifetime is eternity, and eternity is a very, very long time.

It was not surprising that his mother opposed to his joining the venture. It was far too dangerous, she told him. She also reminded him that he had never been to Arda before, that he knew nothing of the dangers of that land. And when Ereinion confirmed her fears – that they were to venture to lands that none of the Quendi had ever been to before – she became more persistent in her pleas.

But Telpeär was most surprised when his father intervened, not by discouraging him – in fact, his only admonishment was that he should pay close attention to what Pallando was saying about the potential dangers that he would encounter when they got to land.

"It is your choice to make," Círdan told him, his manner quiet and composed as always. "You are grown now, and can make your own decisions. While your mother and I would like nothing more than to have you remain here, I will not try to stop you from going should you wish it. I only ask this of you: whatever choice you make, be sure that it is one that you will not regret."

And then he paused, thinking. Would he really regret going on this venture? He thought of the dangers that Pallando had mentioned: war was on the horizon, and he and his companions were likely to be caught in the middle of it, whether they wished it or not. They were to venture into lands that none of the Quendi had ever seen, so his father's stories would be of no use to him.

But would he not regret remaining? He thought of the places he would see, of the people he would meet – no matter that they were mortal – and he had decided. He would go.

So now it was up to him to prepare the ship and the supplies for the journey. Ereinion and the others had sent provisions, but it was his duty to ensure that they were placed in the ship. Which was what he was doing at present: helping his fellow Teleri place the supplies in the hold.

Or, at least, he was _supposed_ to be helping.

A hand tapped his shoulder, and he jumped in surprise, turning around to see the smirking face and teasing gray eyes of Nenros, one of his dearest childhood friends.

"Dreaming again, Telpeär?" Nenros grinned. "Sometimes I think that you should be in Lórien instead of here."

Telpeär laughed ruefully, following Nenros up and out of the hold and onto the deck. The wind ruffled his silver hair, and he absently smoothed down the wayward strands as he climbed down to the pier. Everything was ready. All that was needed were the passengers.

He and Nenros walked down the piers and quays, greeting friends with waves of the hand and cheerful banter, and smiles and gallant words for the ladies.

"Why would you want to leave all of this?" Nenros asked as they passed a row of Telerin maidens who were seated beside a boat, their laughter the merry sound of raindrops on a pool. "Are you not happy with your life here that you must go seeking another in a faraway place?"

Telpeär looked at Nenros. There was a serious expression, but it was difficult to interpret what exactly his friend was feeling. "It is not that I am unhappy with my life here," he replied quietly. "My life here is a happy one, one that I would want to return to."

"Return to?"

"One needs security in one's life," Telpeär explained, "but one also needs to take risks every now and then, or else one does not live life to the fullest. This is my chance to live my life to the fullest. If I do not take this chance, then I will not know what it is like to live."

Nenros frowned. "You could have adventure here. If you are bored in the confines of Alqualondë, you may go on a journey to Tirion, to the woods of Oromë, to-"

Telpeär shook his head. "It will not be the same, my friend," he said. "Eventually I will grow weary of Aman, and I will seek further shores, further lands. But when that time comes to pass, this chance will have slipped from my grasp, never to return again. No, I will take it while I can yet reach it, or live in regret forever."

"You do not know which you will regret: staying or leaving."

"I would rather learn which one I will regret by leaving than by staying. At least if I leave, I can always come back."

"And what if you do not?" Nenros challenged. "What if you get killed?"

Telpeär frowned now. It had been a thought that had entered his mind more often than he would have liked, but, as his father told him, it was a very real possibility.

Again Adventure sang in his mind, tugging at his heart and his soul.

In the end, he smiled, and said, "I suppose that is a risk I will have to take."

* * *

He felt uneasy here. He felt choked, restrained, as if he was standing in a closed room with no windows rather than beside a window that overlooked the most famous Telerin harbor in the world. He felt as if eyes watched him from the shadows: accusing eyes, angry eyes, eyes that welled with tears of blood. He almost thought he could hear voices that whispered names he had not heard in a long time, names that he did not wish to hear anymore.

Murderer.

Kinslayer.

Alqualondë had not changed much. Perhaps there were more buildings now, and more ships, but at heart, it was still the same. There was still the same quiet peace around it, the same peace that had been there the night when he, his father, and his brothers attacked the Teleri and stole their ships.

For Maedhros, the memories of the First Kinslaying never really faded, and being in Alqualondë again only reinforced those memories. He half expected to see the graceful white craft lined along the quays to blush red with blood and fire, to hear the screams of the Teleri tear through the smoke, to smell the stench of burning wood-

He bowed his head away from the view. There was blood on his hands, and while the physical stains were no longer there, the stains on his soul remained, and would remain until he had proven himself worthy again.

"Maedhros?"

He lifted his head when someone called his name, and saw Ecthelion standing in the doorway. He tried to smile, though with his thoughts it was difficult to do so. "Yes, Ecthelion?" They – Ereinion, Ecthelion, Glorfindel, Maedhros and Telpeär – had decided to forgo all formalities and titles, and simply call each other by name.

The silver-haired Elda walked into the room then, his face serene and unperturbed. He stood beside Maedhros, gazing out to the piers. "I just spoke with Telpeär," he said. "We are to leave at moonrise tonight."

Maedhros nodded. "I see. That is good." The sooner I leave Alqualondë, he thought, the better for me.

"Think not of those times," Ecthelion murmured after a long pause. He knew what Maedhros was thinking about.

Maedhros shook his head, red hair – red like the blood I have shed, he reminded himself – shimmering in the afternoon light. "I must think about it," he replied softly. He looked at his hands, at the palms that were clean, but could never be washed of the crimes they had committed. He had to constantly remind himself of what he had done in the past, so that he did not repeat them in the future.

"You are about to atone for those deeds," Ecthelion said. "There is no need to make yourself miserable."

Maedhros looked up at his companion. "How can you speak to me in such a manner, when you are Telerin yourself?"

Ecthelion smirked. "Only half so. My mother was Teleri, and my father Noldo. Obviously, I took after my mother." His expression became solemn as he continued to speak. "I was a member of Turgon's house, while my father was a member of Fingolfin's. Out of loyalty to them our family took the dreadful route to Arda across the Helcaraxë. My parents died during the crossing, but I pressed on, out of friendship to Turgon and Glorfindel, and out of loyalty to Fingolfin." [1]

Maedhros did not speak. He had heard the story of the Crossing of the Helcaraxë from many sources. When he recalled how many had died during the march, he remembered that their blood was on his hands as well. He wished, then, that he had been more forceful in opposing his father and his brothers. He wished that he had worked harder to stop them from burning the ships. But he had not.

"I am sorry," he murmured. "I tried to stop them from burning the ships, but…they would not listen to me."

A hand clasped his shoulder, and Maedhros looked up to see Ecthelion smiling comfortingly at him.

"Let not the shadow of the past cloud your heart, my friend," Ecthelion told him quietly. "It is in the past. Those who do not know how to forgive are bitter and hard-hearted."

Maedhros smiled, and patted Ecthelion's hand. "Thank you, my friend. I thank you."

* * *

Ithil was a large, full globe as it traversed the night sky, multitudes of stars trailing behind it. The ocean melted into liquid mithril, the sea foam glittering as though one could reach out and capture diamonds instead of water in one's hand. A gentle breeze blew from the west; ready to carry them back to the distant shores of Arda. With the wind came the sound of Telerin voices as they sang to welcome the coming of the full moon and the winds that would carry them eastward.

The Teleri are matchless singers, Glorfindel thought as he gazed at the molten silver waters. He smiled. Well, there were also some very lovely maidens amongst them, he mused as he turned around to look upon those who had gathered to bid them farewell. Fingon was with Ereinion, offering the latter some last-minute advice and parting gifts – primarily a long object wrapped in blue velvet that Glorfindel felt was a spear.

Off to one side were Ecthelion and his family; not that far away were Telpeär and his father, Círdan. Directly across the hall from them were Fingolfin, Pallando and Olwë, their expressions serious as they spoke to one another. Perhaps they were talking about the journey, Glorfindel thought as he moved his gaze away from them.

It was then that he saw Maedhros. He was standing apart from the rest of the crowd, preferring to stay near the edge of the quay. His gray eyes were dim and distant as they gazed across the ocean, the moonlight giving his normally vibrant red hair a dull gray hue. It was as if he was aging, like a mortal.

Shaking the disturbing thought out of his mind, Glorfindel approached the eldest son of Fëanor, nudging him gently in the ribs. "Do not look like that at the sea," he said, a teasing note in his voice. "You look as if you will cast yourself to the waves."

Maedhros smiled, and shook his head. "I do not have such plans, Glorfindel, not until I have fulfilled this quest." He sighed, and crossed his arms over his chest. "It will be a long, hard journey," he said. "Do you think that we will find ourselves in the middle of a war once we arrive?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "I do not know," he admitted. "Pallando said that it was possible for war to happen, but he did not mention that the war was already happening. He has given entrusted us with his maps and journals, hoping that they will able to help us."

"I am only worried about the people we will meet," Maedhros said, his tone laced with anxiety. "Pallando said that the people of the South know nothing of our kind, and that if we were to reveal ourselves as those of the Firstborn we might get into more trouble than we bargained."

Glorfindel nodded. It was a point that Pallando had been quick to press on them. Unless they were in Gondor, it would be a dangerous thing to reveal that they were of the Quendi. "We must make it a point to be careful, then."

Maedhros nodded. There was silence for a while, and then he murmured, "I wonder what Arda is like now."

Glorfindel blinked as he looked at his companion. He had thought that Maedhros had asked that question already. "I assumed that would be the first question you would ask the moment you returned to Tirion."

"I had other things on my mind," Maedhros admitted. "Please, tell me. How much has it changed?"

"Many things have changed, perhaps enough to shock you. Beleriand, as you know, is gone now: sunk beneath the waves. The easternmost portion of the land that was once Ossiriand is now the westernmost border of Arda." Glorfindel smiled then. "But it should not matter, I suppose, because where we are going, everything will be new to our eyes. You will not be alone in being shocked."

Maedhros laughed. "I suppose you are right. How I wish that we had not limited ourselves to the North! There is a much wider world to see than I had ever imagined."

"And hopefully we will live long enough to see it all and to return here to tell the tale."

Glorfindel turned, to see Ereinion standing just behind him, flanked by Telpeär and Ecthelion.

The former Lord of Lindon grinned at Glorfindel, his eyes sparkling with eagerness for the journey. "It is time for us to leave."

Glorfindel smiled back, and nodded, glancing towards the moon. "Yes, it is time."

* * *

The Teleri sang, and the winds of Manwë came blowing down from the west, filling the silver sails of one of the Telerin swan-ships. The ship coasted away from the port, and out through the sea arch that was the entrance into the sheltered harbor of Alqualondë. As it cleared the arch, the wind blew harder, and the ship picked up speed, skimming silently over the smooth, deep blue surface of the water.

Those remaining at the port continued to sing, watching as the ship grew smaller and smaller, a floating silver star against the darkness of sea and sky. It moved around the Isle of Eressëa, and continued on its eastward journey. The voices of the Teleri grew softer the farther away the ship went, and their voices were silenced when, at last, it disappeared into the horizon.

It seemed almost ominous, the way the ship melted into the blackness of the horizon. It was like watching a star being swallowed up by the jaws of some large, ravenous creature. Many hearts were troubled at the idea.

But there were those who felt – and there were many of them – that this was not the end, that someday, the same white ship would find its way back, and all would be well again.

There is always that hope, they told themselves.

One can always hope.

* * *

[1]= This part of Ecthelion's history is entirely made-up on my part. I have not read anything yet that points to how he came to be in Arda to begin with, or how he became one of the most elite captains in Gondolin, so I made up this history to partially explain that. While this history is interesting and (from my point-of-view, at least) is quite accurate and possible, I sincerely hope that nobody takes this as canon.


	10. Chapter 9: The Storm

**Chapter Nine: The Storm**

It was the annual flooding of the Eshe that supported the farms and orchards that were the lifeblood of Khemet. If the floods came, then it was a sign that there would be something to harvest the coming year. But when the flood failed to come, or the water was clear and not murky with mud, then all the people knew that they would face a lean year ahead.

This year, the Eshe flooded on time, and the water was so laden with silt that it was almost black. It meant a very good year ahead, and so it was a time of celebration. The Temple of Hapi, the god who controlled the flooding of the Eshe, had a continuous stream of grateful worshippers entering and exiting the stone portico. Singing and dancing took place in the square in front of the temple, as Hapi's devotees honored him and thanked him for blessing Khemet with another fruitful year. The melodies of the flutes slithered, snakelike, to meet the merry jangling of sistrums, and their sounds echoed throughout the city, mingled with laughter and song.

Not that far away, the Grand Port Marketplace of Yaminah was lively and crowded, as merchants from all over Khemet and nations that were on friendly terms with her came in to display their wares in time for the Flood Festival. Folk from the tribes in the desert brought in their precious caches of lapis lazuli, carnelian, agate, gold and copper, and large blocks of beautiful rock crystal in colors as varied and as subtle as those that tint the sky at sunset. Almond-eyed merchants from Rûmenyen displayed bolts of silk with weave as fine as a spider's web, or brocade embellished with gold thread; they were even selling a beautiful cloud-gray mare, raised by the Horsemasters of Rûmenyen – the Doran. The slender, tattooed Ma'yen offered gleaming pearls, some as small as a kernel of wheat, others almost as large as a fat pomegranate, and the sweet-smelling oil of the coconut in cool clay bottles.

Mié Djeserit took in all of these, listening to the rise and fall of different accents, though all spoke the Common Tongue that had come down to them from the people of the North. The air was a heavy mélange of food, liquor, fragrant resin, fish smells, camel smells, horse smells, and the sea – a mixture so intoxicating that she felt she was getting drunk just breathing.

And tonight, many _would_ be drunk, she thought with a small smile as she walked unhurriedly down the middle lane of the market. The celebrations would last an entire fortnight – just long enough for the floodwaters to leave their precious deposit of silt on the otherwise infertile desert ground and retreat back to the river. During that time span, the sandstone walls of Yaminah would resound with the music of flutes, drums and sistrums, and many vats of beer and wine would be drained dry. After that, life would go back to normal, for it was time to till the fields and plant the crop for the following year.

The celebrations made Yaminah vulnerable to attack. It was something that had always worried Mié, ever since she realized that the war against Umbar would take longer than she had wished. If there was ever a time when Umbar could easily bring Khemet to her knees, it was during the Flood Festival. The soldiers would be intoxicated with liquor or made sluggish from the consumption so much food.

But thankfully, the Umbarians had not realized that yet, or else the people would be singing dirges instead of love songs.

At the thought of dirges and love songs, a dark weight settled on her stomach. On this day, she should have been singing a love song, she should have been singing her thanks to Sakhmet and Ptah [1], to Hathor [2] and Horus, to Isis and Amon-Ra, but no. A fortnight ago she had sung the dirges to Osiris and Anubis, the King of the Dead and his jackal-headed messenger, respectively, and those dirges still echoed in her mind during lonely nights in her chamber.

On this day I would have been made a bride, she thought bitterly as she walked down the long avenue that ran through the center of the city. Her fingertips slowly rose to brush against the golden arm bangle that clung to her upper arm. It had been a gift, and in that gift had been bound a promise.

_"With this, I make you a promise…"_

He did not keep that promise, she thought, looking up as she neared the temple that had been her home for so long, her steps slowing as she entered the cool shadow cast by the huge stone structure.

And yet, did she have a right to hold him to his promise? So many had told her to simply let him go, to free his spirit from her heart that he may make the journey across the Duat [3] to the peace and prosperity of the Fields of Osiris [4], but she could not. Memories are difficult to let go, if they are all one has left.

Tears welled up the same time as memory, and she bowed her head, too proud to show her tears to the world. She was a priestess of Sakhmet, the Ward of Vengeance, and she would not show the world that she was weak.

The hour may have been late, but at least, there was still time. She closed her eyes to push back the tears, and slowly, slowly, turned around, and walked across the street – to the Temple of Horus, the home of the Horus Mdjai.

The open doors of the temple exhaled the odors of myrrh and frankincense – perfumes burned in honor of the dead. She stopped at the entrance, standing in the shadow of the imposing stone statues of Horus, and looked inwards to the shadowy hall. The fluttering wings of the hawks and owls that roosted in the eaves of the temple whispered in her ears, a sound like a lover's tender murmurings in the warmth of the night.

_"…to come back, no matter what…"_

How like to his voice that last, fateful night was the whispering of the birds' wings. Her heart twisted painfully, and she suddenly wanted to turn away and run back to the Temple of Sakhmet, not caring if she made a fool of herself in front of any people who might be passing by, or any of her sisters who might encounter her as she raced back to her chambers, there to weep in solitude.

Her pride rebelled fiercely at that idea. No, she would not turn and run, whimpering like a bitch-jackal with her tail between her legs. No, she would stand, and endure this pain. She was a warrior, a woman of Khemet, not like one of those weak, fragile women from the North who could not survive outside the walls of their homes and needed their men to protect them.

But it would not be easy. No, it could not be easy.

Sakhmet give me courage, she prayed as she took a trembling step into the gloomy hallway. She walked forward, her footsteps echoing hollowly, hollow like the beating of her heart.

When he died he took half my soul with him, she thought, her eyes slowly dimming with tears as she approached the pedestals that were standing at the farthest end of the long hallway, in front of the golden statue of Horus. Again, her fingers touched the armband, and for a brief moment she could almost feel his fingertips, the way they lingered on her skin and made her tremble with love and desire.

_"…and a fortnight hence, you and I will sleep in each other's arms as husband and wife."_

She stopped in front of the statue. There were seven low pedestals there, all of them draped in white linen. Two weeks ago there had been bodies on these pedestals, and the linen had been wrapped around those bodies, to prevent the carrion birds from picking off the flesh before there had been time to embalm them properly. But now the bodies were gone, taken to the necropolis of Amarna [5], where they would be embalmed and entombed according to the tradition that had been followed in Khemet since its formation.

Only the white linen sheets remained now, to receive any objects and gifts that those who were connected to the dead might want to return to them. It was essential that any gifts given, especially gifts that were accompanied by promises and oaths, should be entombed with the gift-giver, lest their soul be unable to make the journey to the Fields of Osiris and wander the planes between life and death as a restless spirit.

Had his spirit been wandering up to now, then, she wondered as she approached the middle pedestal. It was a place of honor, reserved for he of the Horus Mdjai who carried the highest rank or had died doing the most valorous of deeds, that he would always under the protective gaze of the falcon god.

She sank down to her knees in front of the pedestal. Damn her pride; none would be able to see her here. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, dropping soundlessly onto the cold granite floor.

Tem Nebtawi. He had been a friend, a comrade in war, and a lover, as well. In her heart, there could be – there would be – no other whom she would love as well and as much as she loved Tem. They had seen much together, both in war and in the few precious moments of peace. They had been childhood playmates, growing up in the Royal Palace of Yaminah, but when he left to train with the Horus Mdjai she almost forgot about him in her later years.

She had loved him even in their childhood, though when their first meeting as grown-ups – she as a priestess of Sakhmet, and he as a lieutenant of the Horus Mdjai – would have indicated otherwise.

But she loved him. She loved him. And now he was gone, killed by Umbarians at the battle of Ahzel-Therman.

"I cannot let the memory of him go," she murmured quietly, her voice raspy from the tears she struggled to hold back. She did not know whether she was speaking to Horus or to herself. "I cannot bear to let him go. He has been taken away from me, and now must I give up the only tangible thing I have left of him? Must I do this?"

The statue remained silent, the eyes of the falcon god blank, dispassionate. She inhaled a trembling breath. Perhaps that was what she needed, to steady herself, to steel her nerves: she needed a statue, an emotionless watcher, to give her strength to do what she had to do.

Carefully, she reached up to her upper arm, pressing the latch that held the armband closed. There was a soft click as the catch was unhooked, but to her it sounded as if her own heart had broken.

She slid the band of ruby-inlaid gold from her limb, her hands shaking harder the lower it drifted down her arm. As she did so, it felt as if she was tearing out her own heart.

At last, after what seemed almost an eternity, the band had slipped off her wrist, and she held it in her left hand. She stared at it, stared at the gold gleaming dully in the shadowy light. Reaching out, she moved to place the band on the pedestal where Tem's body had lain, and said, "But because I love you, I release you from your promise to me, and free your spirit that it may find its way to the Fields of Osiris. Go. Just as the orchards are ever-green in the Fields of Osiris, may your love for me never fade."

The armband settled on top of the linen with a muffled clink.

The walls she had built around herself, her resolve to be courageous and strong, all of that collapsed, and she fell forward on the floor, the sobs and the tears she had restrained suddenly pouring forth from her as water from a punctured dam. No longer was she the spirited warrior-priestess, nor the Ward of Vengeance [6] – now she was merely a woman, a woman whose husband-to-be was taken from her before his promise of marriage could be kept.

She did not hear the footsteps as they approached her from the western wing of the hall. It was too late to dry her tears when she felt the large, calloused hand that rested on her shoulder. Staggering to her feet, she spun round, and saw, the wizened, battle-scarred face of Nizam Auset, General of the Horus Mdjai. "Lord General-"

The grizzled man shook his head slowly, his eyes solemn and grave, so grave in the half-light of the hall. "Do not be ashamed of your tears, child. It is only right that you should shed them, rather than carry the bitterness of your loss with you for the rest of your life. Your pride is not worth all of that."

"My pride is who I am," she murmured, even as more tears cascaded down her face. She struggled to wipe them away, but still, they kept on coming, kept on pouring. "I am a warrior-priestesses of Sakhmet, the goddess' Ward of Vengeance. I cannot allow myself to be seen this way – even by you, Lord General."

Nizam shook his head, holding her shoulder firmly. "It is a good warrior that has courage, and it takes courage to cry," he said quietly, strange for a man of his size and strength, and the General was a giant amongst the men of the Horus Mdjai. "A warrior that does not know how to weep is not a warrior, but a killer – a person with no emotion and no regard for the lives that fall beneath the blade."

She said nothing, merely stared at the stone floor.

At length, Nizam spoke again. "But I am glad that you finally had the courage to do this, Mié. Tem would be happy to know that you are letting him go. He would not like to see you unhappy, unable to accept another love."

But I will never accept another, Mié thought. I will never love another.

"It will be as you say, Lord General," she murmured. The tears had stopped coming, and she felt a little lighter, a little less heavy than before. Perhaps Nizam was right: it was not wise to carry all of that weight in her heart.

Nizam gave her a small smile, made somewhat crooked by the scar on his cheek. "That is better. Now, go back to the Temple. There are things that you must see to."

Mié nodded, and walked out of the hallway, stepping at last into the light of the outside world. But the light seemed colder now, less bright. She looked up at the sky, frowning. The sky was still blue and clear, but there was hardly a stir of wind in the air. But the city was near the sea, and there should have been at a constant breeze, no matter how small.

Is there rain coming, she wondered, and hurried into the temple. She was in no mood to get drenched by rain.

She was cold enough inside without having to be cold on the outside as well.

* * *

He sniffed the air, and frowned. He glanced up at the sky. It was clear, with hardly a wisp of cloud to spoil it. But the air smelled of water – plenty of it.

Small bolts of electricity coursed up and down his arm when the silk sleeves of his shirt rubbed against the flesh beneath. It was something he was quite familiar with, and portended something that he did not quite want at this moment.

At least, Magtír thought, not when Anna is about to make her journey home.

The Khemetian Water mage had stayed in his home for quite some time now, recovering from her injuries and building her strength to make the journey back to her tribe in the desert.

He heard her footfalls on the grass as she stepped out of his cottage. He turned to her slowly, and said, "Do you think it wise to make the journey now? Or can you not feel the storm coming?"

Anna paused a moment, as if trying to read something in the air in front of her. After a moment, she sighed, and shrugged. "I will make the journey, traveling through the storm if I must. If I make haste, hopefully I will be with the Lisimba before the storm falls."

"Do you not think it is too dangerous?" Magtír asked. While he had shared his home with Anna he had grown to like the young woman in his own fashion. He respected her as a warrior, and a friend who would protect him, if ever their paths crossed once more. And he knew how hard it was to win the friendship of the tribal Khemetians. "I have heard something of the sandstorms in the Great Desert, and they are not pleasant."

He noticed her slow down somewhat, as if remembering something. He did not know what it was, but it must have been quite unpleasant, because she shuddered before looking at him. "You are right. I thank you for reminding me. In my haste to get home I had forgotten about that." She sighed, and bowed her head. "Though my people are taught how to survive in a sandstorm, we always prefer avoiding them altogether if we can."

Magtír nodded at that. "You are free to stay in my home until the storm passes, if you wish."

"I thank you, Master Magtír," Anna murmured, bowing to him gratefully. "You have done much for me already. Should the time come that you have need of aid…"

Magtír smiled. It had been long since he had seen someone so earnest. Indeed, he was grateful that there were yet people like Anna in the world, who had honor enough in them to believe that no debt must go unpaid. He hoped that he would never have to call upon her to pay for that debt – if debt she believed it to be.

This is the example that the people of Rûmenyen must remember and follow, he thought, and a wave of bitterness settled on his heart. He rested a hand on the young woman's shoulder, drawing her towards the cottage.

"Come," he said quietly, glancing up at the sky. It was still clear, but the stillness in the air was troubling him. It would be a great storm, and it would strike hard and fast. "The storm is close, and we only have enough time to see ourselves secure in the cottage before it strikes."

* * *

Sweat dripped down Sinag-Tala's back and neck, soaking her hair and clothes. Though she fanned herself continuously, using a small dried leaf of the anahaw [7] for that purpose, it was to no effect. The air was simply too still, and too humid, for comfort – even for she who was generally used to this climate.

It should not be like this, she thought, her brows knitting together slightly. It was not the season for rains anymore – that had been almost two moons ago. This was a season for cool winds and gentle breezes, a time of calm waters and good fishing.

But if it was so, why was the air so still and so moist? When she breathed, it felt as if she was drawing her breath through a blanket soaked in warm water. It was a most uncomfortable feeling, and she felt choked and stifled.

Outside, in the still heat of the sun, several children and even a few adults had taken to the water, hoping that in doing so, they would escape the heat. The children splashed and laughed, but the dolphins were not there. The adults were content to sit down in the shallows, or swim in the shadow of the boats and stilt houses, glad to be out of the heat on land.

Where were the dolphins? She squinted against the reflection of the sun on the sea. It was strange that they were not amongst the children, playing. She had known all her life that the dolphins were especially fond of children, and would always play with them as long as they were in the water. They were in the reef, true, but they were concentrated in the middle, where the water was deepest, and only came up every now and then to surface for air. They never did such a thing, unless…

There will be rain, she suddenly realized. She shook her head, cursing herself for a fool for having not realized it earlier. Had this scenario not repeated itself at least once every year? It was easy to forget, to be fooled by the calmness and the heat, but the hotter and the calmer the air, the more dreadful the winds and the more copious the rain. And always, when such a storm was coming, the dolphins would seek shelter in the deepest portion of the reef, underwater, protected from the battering of the waves and the wind.

Now she knew what she must do. She stood up, and approached Hiraya and Talim, her most trusted guards and once her childhood playmates. "Hiraya, Talim," she called as she walked up to them, "I have a task for you."

Talim looked up at her, the female warrior's eyes gleaming dully in the almost unbearable heat. "What do you wish of us, Sinag?" As old friends, there was no need for formalities, and so Talim and Hiraya only rarely called Sinag-Tala by her title.

"There is a storm coming, and it will be a very bad one," Sinag-Tala murmured quietly. "I want the two of you to go and warn everyone. Tell them to make sure that everything is secure, that they tie down everything that needs to be tied down. It will come fast, and it will hit hard." She glanced at the horizon, and scowled. A dark like of clouds was already beginning to form just beyond the distant blue line where sky and sea met. "See? Even as we speak, the clouds gather."

Talim nodded, accepting the mission. "We will go right away. Hiraya, I will go take the western end, you go east." Without another word, she turned, and headed down the western shore, speaking to certain people as she went.

Hiraya drew himself straight, but before he went, he clasped Sinag-Tala by her shoulder. The babaylan looked up at him, and was puzzled at the strange, inscrutable glint in his eye. "Hiraya? Is something the matter?"

Hiraya blinked, and the glint was gone. "Nothing, Sinag. Go inside now. The storm is approaching, and it would not be wise for you to get caught outside when it finally hits."

Sinag-Tala laughed, and patted Hiraya on the arm. "You do not need to concern yourself so with me, Hiraya. I am a grown woman now, no longer the child that I was when we were playmates. Now go, and deliver my message. It is important that it reaches all the citizens as soon as possible. We will need all the time that we can buy for ourselves."

Hiraya stared at her for a moment longer, and it felt as if he were weighing her words, thinking upon them. She was about to ask if she had said something wrong, but he turned away then, and began walking down the beach to get her warning to everyone as soon as possible.

* * *

[1]= In ancient Egyptian mythology, Ptah is the consort of Sakhmet, and is the patron of craftsmen and artists.

[2]= She is the cow-headed ancient Egyptian goddess of love, fertility, and (in her form as Sakhmet) destruction. There is a legend stating that Sakhmet had once tried to destroy humankind at the orders of her father, Ra, but Ra recanted and he and the other gods placated the rampaging war-goddess by pouring out a lake of red-tinted beer. Sakhmet drank from the pool of beer, which to her looked like blood, and became drunk. She lay down to sleep, and when she awoke, she had forgotten her bloodlust, and became the goddess Hathor.

[3]= This is the ancient Egyptian underworld, through which the spirit of the dead must journey. It is filled with many traps and pitfalls, and the gods come forth to test the soul to see if it is worthy to reach its ultimate goal – the Fields of Osiris.

[4]= This is the goal of every Egyptian soul, after the trials and ordeals endured in the Duat, there to live in eternal peace while harvesting the grain of the God of the Dead.

[5]= Amarna is a necropolis, a city of tombs, where the dead of Yaminah are embalmed and entombed as is proper. It is located on the east side of the River Eshe, and farther up north from the city. In reality, however, Amarna was once the great desert capital of Ankhenaten and Nefertiti, which fell into ruin when Ankhenaten and Nefertiti died.

[6]= In the Temple of Sakhmet, there are certain hierarchies that are maintained. There are merely three levels: the priestesses who form the rank-and-file of the Temple. The second highest level is that of the Four Wards of Sakhmet. These are priestesses from the rank-and-file who are raised to the position by being chosen by the original holder of the title they are about to succeed to. The Four Wards stand for the four purposes of war: Honor, Peace, Vengeance and Justice.

[7]= In reality, the anahaw is a plant that has large, fan-shaped leaves that seem to have pleats in them like a fan made from pleating paper. It is often used as a fan or as a shade from the hot sun.


	11. Chapter 10: Mad Winds

**Chapter Ten: Mad Winds**

The sun shone warmly overhead, making the surface of the sea glitter brilliantly. The ship cut across the surface almost effortlessly, pushed ever onwards by the power of the wind.

Ereinion smiled as the sea wind flowed past him, blowing his hair out behind him. The air was purifying, invigorating – a wonderful change from the stuffy confines of his chambers and study in Tirion. Lindon had always been open to the breezes that blew in from the ocean, and he was used to always being surrounded by the tangy scent of the sea. There was always that sense of freedom of movement – almost as if the palace did not have walls at all.

However, in Tirion, things were much different. The Halls of Fingolfin were made of cold stone, and decorated in a very imposing manner that Ereinion, unaccustomed as he was to such a form of architecture, always felt walled in, as if he was trapped in a tomb.

Perhaps that is why I was so eager to go on this venture, he mused, squinting his eyes slightly to protect them from the glare of Anar on the water. He had been feeling trapped, all those years living in Fingolfin's halls, and he wanted the freedom he used to have, living on the Isle of Balar, and then as a High King ruling in Lindon.

And now, he thought, I am free, and returning to a land that I have not seen for so long. He wondered, every now and then, whether the Palace of Lindon still stood, whether the western gardens – his private gardens, the ones that faced the sea – still bloomed with flowers in spring and summer. He wondered whether the fountains still made their tinkling music in the courtyards, whether the trees still whispered their secrets to the winds, whether the sea beat upon the piers and quays of stone.

He shook his head to clear them of the memory. Their mission was taking them to another place entirely, one that was far, far away from Lindon. If they had the time, perhaps he could make a journey and see what had happened, but not right now. The recovery of Maglor and of Pallando's daughter was their chief objective, and so they would have to be accomplished first.

He heard the patter of feet behind him, followed by an awful retching sound. Turning, he saw Ecthelion leaning over the starboard rail of the ship, his head bowed, and his hair obscuring his face from view.

Glorfindel's voice echoed down to them from where he stood on the quarterdeck with Telpeär. "Seasick, my friend?" There was no mistaking the teasing note in his voice.

"Keep your mouth shut Glorfindel," Ecthelion growled as he straightened up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Ereinion noted, with an amused smile on his face, that the silver-haired Elda's face seemed a rather sickly shade of green.

Glorfindel did not heed his words. "That is quite surprising. I thought that, since you were half-Teleri, you would not get seasick."

Ecthelion glared at Glorfindel, bracing himself with his arms on the railing. "Emphasis on _half_. I have never been to sea before."

"Really?" Ereinion asked, joining in the teasing. "But I thought that to get to Arda, one had to take a ship?"

Ecthelion's glare was bleeding with venom. "I never took a ship to Arda because I had to cross the Helcaraxë. And I thought that you knew your history better than that, Ereinion."

"Oh, I certainly know my history. It is just that it is quite fun to see you getting riled up the way you are right now, Ecthelion."

Maedhros joined in this time, speaking up from where he stood on the port side railing. "I believe that Ereinion has a very good point." He grinned at Ecthelion. "You are simply too easy to tease, my friend."

Ecthelion opened his mouth to argue, but then, his eyes widened, and he turned away, retching again.

"That is precisely my point," Glorfindel chimed, a smile stretching across his face from ear-to-ear. "See? He can hardly say a word without leaning over the railing to empty the contents of his stomach."

A boot went flying across the ship, obviously aimed at Glorfindel's head. Apparently, the golden-haired Elda saw it coming, and ducked, laughing all the while, and the boot landed on the quarterdeck with a muffled thump.

"Children," Telpeär called, raising his voice above the laughter and curses that were being thrown back and forth. "Please, act more maturely. And Ecthelion, there will be no throwing of boots on this vessel."

Dead silence settled on the ship. Three pairs of gray eyes and one of blue gazed at the young Teleri blankly.

Telpeär blinked, looking at them innocently. "Did I say something wrong?"

* * *

Ithil was only beginning to show signs of waning as the ship moved onwards across the face of the sea. A million glimmering stars dotted the sky, and Telpeär could not help but raise his voice in a greeting to the celestial lights, set there by Varda to illuminate the world when the Elves first awoke.

But aside from that, the stars were his guides, pointing him in the right direction on a sea that had no landmarks or other distinguishing features to show him where he was and which way he was to go. Like most of the Teleri, he had been taught how to read the positions of the stars and the sun, so that he would always know exactly where he was, with or without a map. He had also been taught how to read the currents and the wind, so that he would be able to take advantage of either or both to take him to his destination.

Tomorrow morning, we will be able to furl the sails and ride the current south, he thought, a smile gracing his lips. If all went well, they would be docking at the port of Yaminah – their chief destination – by noon tomorrow at the earliest.

All in all, they were making very good time.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, and saw Ereinion standing just behind him, smiling in a most comforting manner.

"I believe it is my turn at the helm?" Ereinion asked lightly, quirking an eyebrow just so.

Telpeär smiled, and nodded, moving away from the ship's wheel to allow Ereinion to step into place. It had been agreed early on in the journey that the two of them would take turns manning the helm. Although Telpeär was the true mariner amongst them, Ereinion had some experience at manning ships, since he had spent his childhood on the Isle of Balar, fostered by Telpeär's own father, Círdan.

He remembered the talk that they had the previous night, when it was just the two of them standing at the helm:

_"Your father was very kind to me. He watched out for me when I was young." Ereinion chuckled. "Sometimes, I think that he was more of a father to me than Fingon ever was."_

_Telpeär smiled, the night-breath of the sea comforting and filled with memory. "He often told stories about you, how you were so troublesome when you were a child. He had a hard time trying to rein you in, because you had such an adventuresome spirit."_

_"Adventuresome, or simply troublesome?" Ereinion chuckled again, and shook his head. "I suppose that I was both. After a time under his tutelage he made me realize that there were other things that I had to attend to – namely living up to my father's legacy as High King."_

_"He said you did not want it, that at first you resisted the idea of taking that title." Telpeär's made sure his voice was soft, not presumptuous in any way. He knew that it was a rather sensitive topic, but he wanted to know the answer, and so he had asked in his own fashion._

_Ereinion fell silent, and the young Teleri felt a stab of fear. Had he overstepped his bounds? He knew that, in spite of the fact that his companions could act a little less maturely than even he could, they were not children. They were Elf-lords, and some of the greatest in their time. Ecthelion and Glorfindel were renowned as heroes of Gondolin; Ereinion had once been known as Gil-galad, and had been the longest ruling High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth. Maedhros was a figure famous in the history of the Quendi, and none had ever suspected that he would ever be allowed to step out of the Halls of Mandos._

_"Your father spoke truly," Ereinion replied at last, and Telpeär pushed away his thoughts for the meantime in order to pay closer attention to the former High King's words. "If I had been raised knowing that I would be High King after my father, had I been raised under my father's tutelage, perhaps then I would have been more resigned in my acceptance of that office. But I was not. Fate cast me into Círdan's care, and to the Isle of Balar. I lived there knowing what it was like to be free, to live without the trappings of royalty. I learned to love my freedom, the freedom that comes from not having to follow strict protocol, and not having to worry that I will offend someone by choosing the wrong words to express my thoughts._

_"Even when I finally assumed my position as High King of the Noldor in place of Turgon, I still had this thirst for adventure. It got me into trouble quite often, and has ruined more than a few relationships." _

_Telpeär blinked. This was new to him. He had never known that Ereinion had been involved with someone before. But he did not push the topic, hoping that somehow, Ereinion would understand his silence, and speak more of it._

_But instead of going on, Ereinion turned to him, and asked, "Telpeär, did you leave a lover behind you in Alqualondë?"_

_"No," Telpeär blurted, caught off-guard by the question. He cleared his throat, and replied again: "No, I did not leave a lover behind in Alqualondë."_

_Ereinion nodded, sighing. "Ah, I see. I suppose that made the decision to go on this quest much easier to make."_

_Unable to contain his curiosity, Telpeär said, "Now that we speak freely of lovers, Ereinion, did-"_

_"I leave a lover behind?" Ereinion smiled, and shook his head. "No, I did not – not in Valinor. But once, when I left the Isle of Balar to go back to the mainland and take up my rule as High King, I did. [1]"_

_His voice became nostalgic, wistful. "Her name was Eleneär – Star of the Sea, and a fitting name for her. She was of the Teleri, and close kin of Olwë. [2]"_

_Telpeär nodded. He knew of the Lady Eleneär. "Yes, I know of her. I have seen her when she comes to visit my mother every now and then." He blinked. "I did not ever think that she was your lover. Father certainly made no mention of it to be before, and the Lady did not speak of it."_

_Ereinion shook his head. "It was not something that I shared with your father during those days." He smiled slightly then. "Besides, Eleneär has enough wisdom to know that one does not go around declaring oneself to be the former lover of a High King. That would create too much unwanted attention for her."_

_Telpeär bowed his head, feeling rather silly. Of course, he should have known that it was not a wise thing to brag about former lovers, especially if that former lover was Gil-galad. _

_But another question lingered in his mind. "But why did you not wed her? I could not think of anyone more suitable to be High Queen."_

_"She did not have the wish for it, and, truth be told, she did not have the disposition," Ereinion replied. "I loved her too much to make her bear the burden of being High Queen. I accepted the High Kingship because it was my duty, and because there was no one else with enough right to take it. I had been prepared for it, and knew what I had to face."_

_His face became more serious. "But moreover, I also knew that there was a very large possibility that I would die, whether by the hand of an enemy on the battlefield or by the sinister dagger of an assassin. And, knowing that, how could I wed her when there was a very great possibility that I would leave her widowed? No, I did not want to hurt her in that manner."_

"You are lost in thoughts again, Telpeär."

Telpeär looked up, and saw Ereinion grinning at him. He smiled back at the former High King. "I was just thinking about something. It is not too important."

Ereinion nodded, and then glanced towards the port side of the ship. "Ah, do you see that?"

Telpeär looked towards where Ereinion's gaze was fixed, and noted that Maedhros had once again taken his usual place at the railing, staring into the distance as if there were things there that only he could perceive. It had been that way since the beginning of the voyage.

Ereinion raised his voice. "Moping again, Maedhros?" He grinned. "If you keep on doing that you will end up wrinkled like an old Man."

The red-haired Elf turned, and looked at Ereinion, a small smile forming on his face, though he did not speak.

Telpeär, seeing that it was Ereinion's intention to bring Maedhros' spirits up for a change, continued, "Ereinion is right. Why should you be so sad, and think of gloomy thoughts, when we sail through a beautiful night, upon an ocean as calm as a millpond? Pay no heed to dark thoughts tonight; pay heed only to the silver of the moon upon the water, the haunting melody of the sea-"

A horrible retching split the air, and all three of them turned to look at the starboard side, where Ecthelion was, once again, bent over the railing, whatever he had eaten for dinner finding its way down to the waters below.

Telpeär laughed, as did Ereinion, at the irony of what had just happened. Even Maedhros was laughing, and Telpeär felt relieved that he had done so. It is not wise to dwell on things that are over and done, he thought.

And then, much to his surprise, the wind that had been steadily pushing them eastward suddenly disappeared, causing the sails overhead to slacken and droop. The ship coasted for a moment from the wind's momentum, and then stopped.

Ereinion inclined his head to look at the sails, his expression a mixture of puzzlement and worry. "What has happened to the wind?"

Telpeär was confused. This was not supposed to happen, he thought. The weather was good, and everything had been as it should be. What was wrong now?

And then, too late, he realized what was wrong – and it made him shudder. He looked to the south, and felt his blood run cold. "No…"

A large wall of dark thunderclouds was heading towards them, lightning flashing in the shadowy miasma of the storm. Only now did he hear the distant rumble of the thunder, and feel the dry, almost coarse feel of the air.

Apparently, the others had seen it too, for they were already standing at attention. Even Ecthelion's seasickness deserted him the moment his eyes fell upon the approaching storm.

"Why have we stopped?" Glorfindel's voice emerged from the door that led below deck. "What has happened to the wind?" When he saw them standing stock-still, and staring to the south, he followed their gaze, and immediately understood why they were so quiet. He swallowed, and clenched his fists. "Telpeär, is there any way that we can avoid the storm?"

Telpeär had been thinking about it the moment he had realized that the storm was going to strike them. He had thought of all possible ways and means in which to avoid it, but none came to mind. He shook his head. "There is nothing we can do," he muttered. "There are no currents that may bear us forward or away, and the wind has died down to nothing because of the approaching storm. We can do nothing except try to weather it."

"Are you sure that this craft will survive it?" It was Ereinion this time.

Telpeär clenched his jaw. "I do not know, but we have to try." He turned to Ereinion. "We have to furl the sails lest the winds tear them to shreds. And then you or I will have to remain here on the deck to steer, so that we at least maintain a steady course somehow."

Ereinion gave him a half-smile, and patted him on the shoulder. "We will stay together, you and I. We must fight this storm somehow."

Telpeär smiled, and nodded. He turned to the others, and said; "I think it would be best if all of you went below deck." His eyes narrowed slightly as he turned his gaze to the approaching clouds. "It will be a long and difficult night ahead."

* * *

Sinag-Tala could not tell whether the screams she was hearing were the howls of the winds, or that of the stragglers as they battled against the winds to reach the safety of the forest. It was too dangerous now, to stay in their huts and homes on the reef and coast. It was too open, too exposed to the elements of the storm. At the very least, the trees of the forest would shield them somewhat from the ferocity of the rain and wind.

She turned around, waving her arm. "Hurry!" she yelled over the shrieks of the wind, the rain slicing against her skin like cold knife blades, and she was surprised that she was not bleeding yet. "Take shelter in the forest!"

The people hurried to obey her command, and slowly, they filtered into the protective embrace of the trees, and she alone was left standing in the rain and wind. She peered at the horizon, watching as the wind caused high waves to beat upon the reef and the shoreline.

She shook her head grimly, and entered the forest.

* * *

[1]= This part of Ereinion's history - his love life, in essence - is non-canonical, and was entirely made up on my part. It should not, in any way, be taken as canon.

[2]= The identity and existence of the Lady Eleneär, and her relation to Olwë, is also non-canonical, and was made up on my part. It should not, in any way, be taken as canon.


	12. Chapter 11: Trespassers

**Chapter Eleven: Trespassers**

When Ecthelion opened his eyes after what was probably his worst night at sea, he was more than relieved that the ship had stopped rocking so violently. In fact, it seemed as if it had stopped floating altogether. He hoped that they were beached somewhere, so that they did not have to put out to sea again – at least, not for quite some time.

He sat up slowly; for fear of making his head spin. It felt like his joints and bones had been turned into a soft pulp, and his head felt as if it was a separate thing from his neck, but at least his stomach remained steady.

"Is the storm over?" Ecthelion asked, and he barely recognized his voice – it was a harsh, raspy croak that sounded nothing like his usual mellifluous tone.

Maedhros spoke up then. "Yes, I suppose it is."

Ecthelion turned to look at him, and noticed that Maedhros was sitting up, and looking just as bad as he did. Ecthelion took some comfort in that. "Where are the others?"

"I suppose that they are up on the deck." Maedhros stood up slowly, swaying a little before he found his feet again. He turned, and smiled at Ecthelion. "Do you wish to join me?"

"Let me see if I can find my feet, first." Slowly, Ecthelion stood up, knowing that he should not rush his movements. At this point in time, the one thing he feared was for the blood in his head to leave it too quickly, and leave him with a most horrible headache. But when he managed to stand up without feeling like he ought to sit down again, he smiled, and nodded at Maedhros.

The red-haired Elda smiled, and approached him, each supporting the other so that they made it up to the deck with some relative speed and ease.

It was as Maedhros had said. Ereinion and Glorfindel were standing near the wheel, talking to one another in hushed tones. Telpeär, in the meantime, was nowhere to be found.

Glorfindel was the first to notice their approach. He looked up, and smiled upon seeing them. "It is good to see that you are able to stand on your own two feet after such a wild storm."

Maedhros chuckled. "I pray that we do not have to endure such a thing again. I have sailed over the sea in a ship once, but during that time we did not have to sail through a storm."

Ecthelion winced. "And I pray that I do not have to endure such a thing ever again. My first time on a ship, and it is the first time that I must experience how it is like to sail through a storm. It seems that I do not have the same luck as you do, Maedhros."

"And it is just our luck that we were able to weather the storm," Ereinion remarked. "I had almost thought that we would capsize."

At that moment, Telpeär appeared from the crow's nest at the top of the mast. "I must agree. That was a very violent storm. I have never seen its like."

Ereinion chuckled. "It is well, then, that you were not alive to witness the storm that occurred during the Breaking of the World."

Before they could go further into the discussion of storms – a topic that Ecthelion had no pleasure of hearing about at the moment – he decided to steer the topic to something more important. "Where are we?"

Telpeär frowned as he began to climb down from the crow's nest to the deck. "I do not know. The storm blew us further south than I expected. We are nowhere near Yaminah."

Ecthelion winced. He had hoped not to hear that. "How can you tell that?"

"The water here is too clear, too blue," replied the youngest member of their group as he approached them, a serious mien on his face that was quite unlike the usual cheerful smile that Ecthelion had grown accustomed to seeing. "Yaminah is located near a delta, and if that were the case the water would be somewhat murky, not clear. Pallando's notes make no mention of a reef near Yaminah, and we are floating near one."

Ecthelion's hopes fell. He had hoped for a brief respite from sailing, to allow his stomach to settle down again. "So that means we will have to set sail soon and go up north."

Ereinion shook his head grimly. "Not quite so soon, my friend. Our ship has taken damage, and we will have to repair them before we may depart." He turned, and looked towards the north. "I can see a coast to the north, and there are people there as well, but this reef is acting like a barrier and prevents us from moving the ship into the waters inside the reef." He frowned. "The reef itself does not rise more than a foot out of the water, but we cannot lift our ship over that, and if we tried to ram through it, we would only cause irreparable damage to the keel. We may have to wait until the tide is high enough before we can get through.

Maedhros smiled slightly then. "It is a natural seawall, then."

"I am not so surprised to know that it was like that," Telpeär said quietly. He gazed into the iridescent turquoise waters that shimmered and lapped at the sides of their ship. "I do not know if you can feel it, but this place…it is one that is favored by Uinen. It was she who raised the reef."

Suddenly, Glorfindel spoke up again – he had been silent since he had greeted Maedhros and Ecthelion. "I seem to recall reading something of this from Pallando's journals… Let me see… Ah, now I remember: he made mention of a nation called Ma'yi, which, he wrote, was protected by a seawall raised by Uinen, for she favored these people who were seafarers and made their living from the sea."

"And are the people friendly?" Ecthelion asked.

"Surely, they must, for they would not have the guardianship of one of the Maiar – and one as mighty and as respected as Uinen – if they were not worthy of that protection."

Just then, Ecthelion heard a strange chattering sound come from the port side of their ship. Blinking, he and his companions walked up to the port side railing, and looked down into the water. There, they noted several gray, slender shapes darting in and out of the water, and they smiled.

"Dolphins," Telpeär said softly, and Ecthelion noted something that sounded like relief in his voice. The young Teleri turned to him, and grinned. "It is said that they are Uinen's favorite sea creatures, and that they can be found in waters that are blessed by her presence."

Ecthelion smiled, and felt relieved. If Uinen does indeed guard these waters, then there is really nothing to fear, he thought.

One of the dolphins poked its head out of the water then, and seemed to eye the five of them with a curious, quizzical manner. After a while, it uttered a series of chirps and clicks, before diving back into the water, and then, moments later, making a magnificent leap over the exposed area of the reef and into the waters within.

It was during the leap that Ecthelion noticed something unusual. "Telpeär," he asked, "is it common for dolphins under Uinen's protection to wear ornaments on their fins?"

* * *

She surveyed the damage done by the storm, and sighed wearily. Many of the structures were still standing, fortunately, but the roofs – made from dried coconut fronds or large dried anahawleaves – were mostly gone. The lighter structures, like the sheds that were used for drying fish and tanning sharkskin, were damaged as well. But overall, the damages were not too serious: their boats were in good condition, and the larger structures, which were made of wood, were intact.

"We thank you once again for your protection, Inang Dag'at," she murmured, closing her eyes momentarily as she offered the prayer on behalf of her people, to their benefactress.

She looked towards the reef, and watched as the dolphins frolicked in the middle. It was breeding season again, and she knew that she would once more have to go out onto the reef and make sure that no sharks tried to gain access and wreak havoc on the birthing females. While her people never raised their hand against any of the creatures of the sea, save for they caught for food, they did, however, take exception during the dolphins' breeding season.

It was an arrangement that stretched all the way back to the beginnings of their nation. In exchange for the protection they received from the Ma'yen, the dolphins did all they could to aid the Ma'yen in such tasks as fishing and pearl diving. And when one of the boats got lost or stranded in a storm, the dolphins were there to guide and direct them back to shore and home.

They also made excellent border patrols. Over the many years of close contact with the dolphins, the Ma'yen had learned how to understand their language of clicks and chirps, while the dolphins eventually learned to understand human speech. While the dolphins could not speak the human tongue and vice-versa, it was sufficient that each understood the other, and could communicate in the manner that they were accustomed to. And because of this, the dolphins were considered the guardians of Ma'yi's outermost seaward borders. Anyone who was not familiar with the ways of the Ma'yen would never suspect a dolphin of being a warden, and thus they were perfect for that capacity.

For some odd reason, she felt compelled to go to the reef, though it was still too early to begin the shark hunt, which often occurred in the early evenings during the breeding season. She felt the need to be alone with herself, felt the need to think. She took her spear, belted a dagger around her waist, and headed towards one of the nearby canoes.

"Going out to the reef?"

Sinag-Tala smiled when she heard Talim's voice. "Yes. It is the breeding season again, and I wish to be on the reef like I always am at this time of year."

Talim smiled back, her teeth shining white against her tanned skin in the afternoon light. "Do you not think it is a little early yet? I think you should wait until the sun is at least halfway down the horizon, and come with us when we launch the boats."

"No, I wish to go there now, and have a moment of solitude to myself before the hunt begins in earnest." She sighed. "There is much I wish to think about."

Talim's expression showed concern. "Are you certain you wish to go alone? I think it would be best if I went with you, and kept you company." She smiled slightly. "It has been a long time since we last talked to each other in private, as if you were not babaylan and I was not a warrior."

Sinag-Tala uttered a small laugh. Talim was right: it _had_ been quite a long time since the two of them had spoken to one another without the impediments of duties and responsibilities. "Perhaps you are right. Come, let us go."

The two of them chose one of the canoes, and pushed it out into the waves. Once they were standing knee-deep in the water, they climbed into the vessel, took up the oars, and began paddling towards the slowly shrinking line of the reef.

They paddled in silence for a while, passing the rows of houses that were built on platforms above the water, balanced on stilts of bamboo that had been driven deep into the sands for stability. At length, Talim asked, "What are you thinking about?"

Sinag-Tala sighed, and tightened her grip on the handle of her oar. Now was the moment of truth. "I was thinking of Hiraya."

In spite of that, Talim didn't seem to miss a beat in paddling. "What about him?"

"I…do not really know how to handle him, or what to think of him." She stopped paddling a moment, and looked over her shoulder at her friend. "Did he not tell you? He asked for my hand in marriage."

"I knew," Talim replied, not the least bit ruffled by the idea. "He spoke of it to me, seeking advice, before he went to you." She raised an eyebrow inquiringly at Sinag-Tala. "Is that what you wished to think about?"

Sinag-Tala sighed, and nodded. "Yes, it was that…"

_"Why do you ask me this, Hiraya?"_

_"And why should I not?"_

Talim offered a small shrug. "I do not see anything wrong with it. If anyone were to wed you, it would have to be Hiraya. He is foremost of all those who would dare challenge for your hand. In fact, I doubt if anyone would wish to challenge him at all."

Sinag-Tala shook her head. "It is not as simple as you think."

_"It is not so simple as this, Hiraya! I am a babaylan, and leader of my people! I do not have time to think of such things. I must think of my people first."_

_"And am I not one of those people? You are too hard on yourself, Sinag. You need someone to help you, and take care of you."_

_"I do not need anyone. This duty was left to me by my parents, and to no one else."_

_"But your parents had each other. They were not alone."_

"It is a good match," Talim observed. "You know each other well. You are both of a marriageable age. And had your parents been alive today, they would offer no objections to the match."

"That is not the point," Sinag-Tala said, this time a little more vehemently. "I…I do not understand yet how I feel for Hiraya. When I asked Father why he married Mother, he said that it was because he loved her, and that she loved him. He told me that when the day came that someone asked to marry me, I should choose based on what I felt for the person in question. But he never told me what I should do if I did not understand how I felt." She shook her head. "No, I will not marry Hiraya, not now. Not while I cannot understand how I feel for him."

Talim sighed, and Sinag-Tala thought she heard regret in that sigh. "It will be as you say, Sinag."

There was a soft thumping sound against the side of the canoe then, causing Sinag-Tala and Talim to look towards the direction from which it came from. When they did, they saw a dolphin, its head poking up over the water. A ring, carved and polished from white coral, dangled against its flank, from where it hung from the dorsal fin by a thin but sturdy thread.

Sinag-Tala blinked, recognizing the dolphin. "Sindala?"

The dolphins had their own names, of course, in their own language, but since the Ma'yen, being humans, could not pronounce those names, instead gave the dolphins names in their own language. Sindala, as this particular dolphin was called, had been Sinag-Tala's friend since her childhood. The ring of white coral that she wore on her dorsal fin was a gift from Sinag-Tala herself, one that she had carved with the help of her parents.

Sindala responded to her voice, uttering a series of clicks and chirps that made Sinag-Tala's eyes widen in fear. No, she thought, surely not…

"A ship?" Talim asked softly, disbelief threaded through her voice. She too had heard and understood Sindala's message. She looked at Sinag-Tala. "What do you intend to do, Sinag? I think we should go back and warn the others, get the other warriors to come out here. I do not think we can do this by ourselves."

Sindala chattered then, and wriggled around in a manner that showed disagreement.

Sinag-Tala waited until Sindala had stopped chirping, and shook her head. "No, I will go ahead and speak to the people on the ship. Sindala tells me that there is nothing to fear from them, but I am not taking any chances. You go back, sound the horns, and gather a dozen armed warriors. Get them to the reef as soon as they are ready."

Without further ado, Sinag-Tala grabbed her spear, and jumped off the side of the boat. Grabbing hold of one of Sindala's dorsal fin, she took a deep breath, and felt the dolphin dive into the water, and speed off towards the reef. While this was not the most conventional mode of travel to the reef, since it was inconvenient for both human and dolphin, it was the swiftest, and necessary in times of need.

Sindala surfaced again near the reef, and Sinag-Tala was stunned to see a large ship looming just outside the protective ring formed by the reef. "In the name of the gods…"

It was unlike any ship that she had ever seen before. It was certainly more beautiful than the ships of the Rûmenyans, though certainly not as large. The timbers were dazzling white, and the prow was shaped to resemble the head of a swan – a bird that she had seen only once before, when she went on a journey to Rûmenyen with her father.

And then, she remembered all of a sudden the nights of her childhood, when she had gone running to her father when she could not sleep, and he would tell her stories of white swan ships that sailed to the land where the gods dwelt, never to return again…

It cannot be, she thought disbelievingly. This was too much like a dream. She had always believed that her father's stories were merely what they were – stories, and nothing more. But this ship in front of her was proving all her beliefs otherwise.

How I wish you were here with me, Father, she thought, and felt the tears coming to her eyes again, but she shook her head, clearing the tears from her lashes. Now was not the time to think of that. With that thought in mind, she straightened, and climbed up the corals in front of her, drawing an air of authority around her.

With a deep breath, she planted her spear to her left, and opened her mouth to speak; her words clear, but commanding. "How now, strangers! State your names, and your purpose in these waters."


	13. Chapter 12: Sinag Tala

**Chapter Twelve: Sinag-Tala**

Maedhros spun round when he heard the voice. I did not expect that, he thought as he, along with his companions, drew towards the port side of the ship, the side that was facing the reef.

And he blinked at what he saw.

A rather small, but slender young woman was standing on the wall, her left hand holding a spear, while her right rested on the handle of the dagger that was tied to her right side. She seemed as if she had swum to get to the wall, because her jet-colored hair was wet and dripping water. Droplets glistened on her tanned skin, catching the dying light of Anar like golden crystals, casting a warm glow of light around her.

She narrowed her eyes at them then when none spoke. "Again, I ask you: state your names, strangers, and your purpose in these waters. This is my people's territory, and you have come into it without our knowledge."

"Hail and peace, lady," Telpeär responded then. "We mean no harm to you or to your people. We are merely folk who have lost our way, blown into your seas by the storm."

The woman's eyes narrowed further, and little lines appeared on hr brow. "You have explained how you got here, but you did not answer my questions."

Telpeär seemed to color slightly at that, and responded. "Forgive me, lady. I am Telpeär, and these are my companions: Ereinion, Glorfindel, Ecthelion, and Maedhros. We were on our way to the port of Yaminah, but the storm blew us off course, and we found ourselves here. We would proceed with our voyage, but we seem to have lost our bearings, and our ship has taken damage from the storm. We seek sanctuary here for the time being, until we are able to repair our vessel and make her seaworthy again."

The woman tilted her head back slightly, gazing upon them more fully. When she did so, Maedhros felt a shiver of familiarity run up and down his spine.

Her eyes were silver-gray – a particular shade that was present only in the Elves and those of Elven descent. But Pallando's journals had made no mention of an Elf being present this far south, much less an Elf being the parent of a child. And he was certain that Pallando would have made mention of it, if he knew.

But what if, by some chance or accident, he had not?

For some odd reason, Maedhros remembered his brother. The girl's shining silver eyes were so like to Maglor's, and the almost ringing clarity of her voice when she spoke could almost have been that of his brother, save higher, more feminine, and with a different accent. Could he have fathered this child?

He shook his head. No, it was impossible, illogical. Maglor would not have done that. He would not have wed a mortal woman and gotten her with child. It went against his nature.

But what do you know of Maglor now, a small voice demanded in his head. What, indeed, did he know of Maglor, after so many thousands of years of separation? Many years spent living in Arda could have changed his brother, could have made him different. Maedhros was well aware of that fact.

I am clutching at straws, he thought. He could not hold such a hope, lest it be proven false. This child might have been sired by any number of people from the north who had gray eyes. It was, after all, an easy trait to pass from parent to child.

A deep, almost hollow sound echoed across the waves from the shore, causing Maedhros to look up towards the source. The sound lasted for five heartbeats, before it stopped, leaving a crystalline silence in its wake. And then, that silence was broken by two more short blasts, each lasting two heartbeats each.

Sinag-Tala smiled slightly then as she looked over her shoulder. "Ah, it seems that the escort is on its way." She turned back to them, her smile becoming just a little graver. "I hope that you will forgive me for my curtness a moment ago. There is war in the air, and I cannot afford to be lax. If you wish, I shall take you with me back to shore."

"And what of our ship?" Ereinion asked. "She is damaged, but still seaworthy if we can make repairs on her."

"We will bring her in when the tide is high enough," Sinag-Tala said with a wave of her hand, as if dismissing the next obvious question: when would high tide be. She smiled then, perhaps sensing their anxiety. "You need not worry for her safety; we have vessels enough of our own, and we certainly do not wish to damage such a beautiful ship as yours any further."

Maedhros relaxed. Glorfindel was right. These folk were good people. They would be safe in their land and in their company for the meantime.

He raised his head slightly then, and noticed that four canoes were headed towards them. Spear tips and naked sword blades gleamed in the last rays of sunlight, and he realized then that these were no ordinary escorts. These were warriors, and apparently well trained in fighting, for they held their weapons with a wary ease.

He noticed that there were also women amongst the men, armed as well with spears or swords. Maedhros frowned. He remembered a few women who, in the First Age, had fought at the side of their men to protect their lives and the lives of their loved ones. Haleth, Lady of the Haladin, was the foremost of these women. But such women were the exception, and not the norm.

Sinag-Tala's attention was now diverted away from them, for she was speaking with two of the warriors who had come in the boats – one a woman, the other, a man. They seemed quite similar to Sinag-Tala in that they also possessed the same golden skin, and the same raven hair as she did, but unlike Sinag-Tala, their bodies were covered with tattoos.

Maedhros did not know whether to feel revulsion or fascination for the markings that these people bore. While on one hand he had an aversion to tattooing, he also had to admit that the patterns and designs that rippled and undulated on the skin of these people were quite beautiful – nothing like the crude, savage images that the Orcs painted themselves with.

At length, Sinag-Tala looked back at them, and waved her hand. "Come," she called. "You must come down from there. We will take you to shore now."

* * *

Sinag-Tala watched as the five strangers disappeared from her sight to another part of the ship – perhaps to get together whatever supplies they might need for when they got to shore.

"Are you sure that this is a wise thing to do, bringing these strangers to our land?"

Sinag-Tala turned to look at Hiraya, and she tried to keep her voice steady, trying to betray nothing of the anxiety and confusion she had felt when she was speaking to Talim only moments ago. "I believe that I am doing no wrong," she replied. "They are as they say: strangers who have lost their way during the storm."

Hiraya's eyes narrowed. "And what do you make of their ship? It is unlike the ships of Rûmenyen and Khemet."

"No, they are not. You are right on that point." Here, Sinag-Tala smiled softly, remembering warm summer nights spent on the seashore with her father, as he told her stories that he had heard during his own childhood – tales and legends of the North. "This is a ship out of the stories that my father used to tell me when I was a child. Those who command these ships would do harm to no one."

"She is right, Hiraya," Talim said then, and there was a smile on her face. "Did you not see their faces? They looked like your father, Sinag! They were handsome and tall, and their voices were made for songs and the telling of tales. Do you think they are of the same kindred as your father?"

Sinag-Tala laughed as she looked at Talim. It was such a surprise to see the normally cool and aloof Talim suddenly act like a girlish maiden who has just seen a fine warrior. "Perhaps they are. I will have to ask first if they are indeed of my father's kindred."

A small pang made her heart twinge when she thought of her father. If these were, indeed, her father's kindred, perhaps they would tell her who her grandsires – her father's parents – were. Maybe they would tell her where she would be able to find them – and, she hoped, perhaps they would lift some of the mystery surrounding her father. Perhaps they would be able to answer the questions that her father had refused to answer before.

The knots of a rope ladder thudded against the keel of the ship, and one by one, the men she had been speaking with descended to the low wall of the reef to stand just in front of her.

She inhaled sharply, hoping that they had not heard her. They are so similar to Father, she thought. They were indeed tall, though the one with the deep red hair was taller even than his other companions. They had the same grace of movement, the same fair faces, and the same demeanor.

Yet she kept herself in check. There will be time for questions later, she thought as she drew herself up, smiling as courteously as possible at the newcomers. She gestured to the canoes behind her. "Come, let us go to shore." So saying, she stepped into the nearest one.

The strangers glanced at one another for a moment, and chuckled. The one named Glorfindel – he with the golden locks – said: "We would willingly go with you, lady, but I fear that our companion can get quite seasick."

The one who had been introduced as Ecthelion glared at his friend. "After such a ride as last night, I doubt that I could possibly get seasick again."

The one with the dark hair – Ereinion – smiled. "Then it is well. At least you will not embarrass us in front of our hostess." Here he bowed his head slightly to Sinag-Tala.

Sinag-Tala felt a stinging heat rise to her face, and returned the nod with one of her own before she turned away. The darkness of the evening was beginning to settle all around, and she was grateful for that: it would mask the blush that, surely, would be clearly visible in spite of her dusky skin.

Why was she allowing herself to be so affected by it? She tightened her grip on her spear. It was not as if she had never seen a handsome man before. Hiraya was judged to be one of the handsomest men in Ma'yi. Many of the young women sighed and fluttered their lashes at him all the time. And yet, only last night, he had asked for _her_ hand in marriage.

Last night had come as a shock to her. She had never viewed herself as desirable before, never seen herself as beautiful. She had always considered herself too different from her peers. When she was nine – the age when most children got their first tattoos in Ma'yi, according to tradition – her father had expressly forbidden it. The only time she finally got her tattoos – her _only_ tattoos – was when she turned nineteen, a full ten years late. Also, she had none of the dark, languishing beauty that was highly prized amongst her people. Her skin was a shade too pale compared to theirs, and her eyes were the gray of steel – nothing like the deep, shadowy beauty of the other women.

But all that this stranger had to do was smile at her, and she understood then what it was like to be desired.

She shook her head imperceptibly. My mind is playing tricks on me, she thought. She still hadn't quite gotten over the shock of Hiraya's proposal from last night. Perhaps that was why she was feeling this way.

After assuring herself that no vestiges of a blush remained on her face, she turned around again, and noted that three of the strangers had seated themselves in the canoe she was in, while the other two sat in another one. Talim and Hiraya were in the other canoe; the former looking quite fine with the arrangement, but Hiraya did not look pleased.

She sighed at that. Hiraya had no right to act as if she was already his wife. They were not wedded yet, and thus he had no say about her actions – and even if they were married, he still had no right to control her. For a brief moment, she was glad that she had not accepted Hiraya's proposal.

She glanced at the warriors who held the oars, and gave them a nod as she sat down on the narrow bench that had been built into the canoe. The warriors took up their oars, and dipped them into the water, propelling the craft forward. She glanced at her side, and watched as the craft carrying Hiraya, Talim, and the others went forward as well. The two other canoes, along with two warriors, remained close to the reef, and, Sinag-Tala knew, would stay there until dawn.

The stranger who had introduced himself as Telpeär looked over his shoulder at those who had been left behind, and when he spoke, there was a trace of anxiety in his voice. "Why do they stay behind, lady?"

"They remain to guard the reef from sharks," Sinag-Tala explained, as she turned around on her bench to face them, laying down her spear along the length of the canoe.

Maedhros raised an eyebrow. "Sharks, lady? But we have seen none since we arrived here."

Sinag-Tala offered a small smile. "No, you do not see them, for they do not come up to the reef in the daytime. Normally, we do not hunt sharks, but it is the dolphins' breeding season, and so we must protect them. The sharks will smell the blood from the birthing and will come swarming in to take the mothers and the babies if we are not around to stop them first. By day, the reef protects the dolphins, but at night, the tide comes back in, and the sharks can swim over the barrier. That is why the best fishers will go to the reef armed with spears and daggers, to harpoon any shark that draws too near to the edge of the reef."

"We saw a dolphin wearing an ornament on its fin," Ereinion said then. "Why is that so?"

Sinag-Tala smiled more broadly now. "It has been so since the beginnings of our nation. The dolphins and we, the Ma'yen, have lived closely with one another for generations. We safeguard the dolphins during their breeding season, and in return, they aid us in our daily lives and when we are in need. A majority of my people depends upon the sea for its livelihood, and thus our relationship with the dolphins is beneficial to us, and to them as well. We have learned to understand their speech, as they have understood ours, though we cannot speak their tongue any more than they can speak ours." She paused, and then asked, "What was the ornament you saw on the dolphin?"

"It was a white ring, covered with markings of some sort," Maedhros replied. He glanced at the sides of Sinag-Tala's legs. "In fact, the pattern on the ring is like the tattoo on your leg."

"Ah, that was Sindala whom you saw. She is a friend of mine, and has been so since my childhood."

Telpeär smiled. "You speak of this dolphin as if it were a person."

Sinag-Tala shrugged. "What difference does Sindala's being a dolphin make on the friendship that I share with her? She is not human, but that does not matter, and it has never mattered. One does not have to be a human to befriend another if one so wills it."

Maedhros laughed. "We did not mean to reproach or question your people's ways. It was merely curiosity. We are not from these lands, and so your ways are unfamiliar to us."

"I understand that," Sinag-Tala said softly. Perhaps now was the best time to ask them. "Where are you from, if I may know?" She lifted her head slightly in hope. "Are you of the people from the North?"

"Well…yes, I suppose you could say that," Ereinion said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"My father…he was from the North." Sinag-Tala bowed her head then. "As you may have noticed, I am taller and somewhat paler in comparison to my companions, and only I have gray eyes."

"What happened to your father?" Maedhros asked gently.

She swallowed then, the memory threatening to push tears into her eyes. "He was lost in a storm ten years ago. My mother begged him not to go, but he insisted, and he left. When he did not return, we knew that he was dead. Even the dolphins said that they had lost track of him. After that, my mother lost the will to live. She lingered for a year, and then died."

She closed her eyes, and reproached herself fiercely for wearing her emotions so openly. Simply because they were like her father did not mean that they had known him. Do not cling to a hope as elusive as the last rays of the moon before dawn, she thought, chiding herself.

She lifted her head again, her voice steady as the emotions in her heart calmed somewhat. "When my mother died I was but eleven years old, and had no training to be ruler. Up until then I had been schooled as a priestess – babaylan is the word in our tongue – and how to be a warrior. Due to circumstance, I forced myself to learn the intricacies of ruling, diplomacy and politics. I know that many were not inwardly pleased with the idea of me being ruler, but they accepted it because of the respect they had for my parents."

She pressed her lips together into a thin line. "It has been hard, balancing my dual roles of priestess and leader, but I am pleased with what work I have managed to accomplish. I would like to believe that, if my parents could see me now, they would find no fault in me or in my work."

She heard a soft crunching sound as the canoe slid to a halt on the sand. She turned around, and realized that they had touched shore. She picked up her spear, stood up, and turned to her guests. "We have arrived. I bid you welcome to Ma'yi."


	14. Chapter 13: A Feast and Thoughts

**Chapter Thirteen: A Feast and Thoughts**

Ereinion stretched his arms over his head, uttering a small, contented groan. He was glad to be back on land, and had absolutely no intentions of going back out to sea for quite sometime. While he realized that their mission here was urgent, and that they had to find Pallando's daughter and Maglor as quickly as they could, he knew that they had some time in which to find their bearings and outline a plan.

It was his intention to speak to Sinag-Tala when he had the time. As ruler of her people she would have had contact with the people of other lands, even Khemet, he was certain. That would prove invaluable to them in the long run. He even hoped that she would accompany them on the rest of their journey, to act as a guide of sorts so that they did not have to grope around in the dark so much when they went on their quest.

He chuckled at his thoughts, shaking his head. It was wrong, selfish, of him to think of taking these people's leader and priestess away from them during such troubled times. As Sinag-Tala had said when they first met, there was war in the air, and it would not be wise to be anything less than vigilant.

Ereinion was very much aware of what the presence of a good and well-loved leader had over his or her people. As Gil-galad, he was not aware of the effects of his presence over the Elves that were his subjects. It was only after, while reviewing the history of the Elven nation while he was at Tirion, did he realize just what sort of emotions he had somehow managed to inspire in his subjects all throughout the Second Age.

Sinag-Tala, he reflected, was just that sort of leader. He saw the way the warriors who escorted them all gave deference to her, and how, upon arriving at the shore, the other folk spoke to her in respectful tones.

And yet she did not move or act or speak as if she were superior to those around her. If anything, it seemed as if she humbled herself to their level, perhaps even lower. Watching her interact with those who approached her when they arrived at the shore, he noted how she was always ready with a smile and a kind word to anyone who spoke to her.

Ereinion guessed that the reason why she humbled herself was because she was so different from her fellows. She was a full head taller than all the other women, and there were only a handful of men who were as tall as she. He also noted that her skin was paler than the others, leaning more to a golden shade in comparison to the darker, earthier hues of the others. And while the others – men and women both – were covered in tattoos, she bore only the two vine-and-flower markings that ran down the sides of her thighs.

Perhaps her humility and kindness was a way of gaining acceptance from the others. Perhaps she humbled herself so that the others would not treat her unkindly or in a manner that showed she was different from the rest of them.

For some odd reason, the thought made Ereinion's blood burn.

He heard the wooden floorboards creak as someone approached, and he looked up to see who it was. He smiled when he saw their hostess standing in the portico, one hand holding back the curtain of tiny shells that served as a door of sorts for the room. "Good evening, lady."

Sinag-Tala chuckled, and shook her head. "Please, let us speak with no formalities. You are guests under my roof, and as such you are free to call me by my name."

Ereinion grinned as he stood up. "As long as you do the same for us, Sinag-Tala."

She smiled, and nodded. "As you wish." She stepped back, and turned towards the doorway. "The others are waiting outside."

Ereinion followed behind her, watching as she moved across the space that, as Sinag-Tala had told him and the others before, served as judgment hall, dining hall, and general meeting area.

It was not long before they arrived at the door, and were walking down the small, almost ladder-like steps that led down to the beach, the sand pale and powdery beneath the light of the moon. Long bamboo torches were stuck into the sand at regular intervals, the flickering firelight casting a warm glow over the entire area. Dark-skinned, dark-haired people moved back and forth on the edges of the torch-lit paths, some of them carrying things, though others simply seemed to be rushing from place to place with their fellows.

"There will be a feast tonight," Sinag-Tala remarked from somewhere in front of him, "in honor of your arrival here."

Ereinion smiled, and turned to look at her. "You do not need to go to so many lengths, Sinag-Tala. Your offer of sanctuary and aid in rebuilding our ship is more than enough for us."

The young woman laughed, and for the first time Ereinion realized just how young she was. Her body was sprightly and lithe, making her more akin to a young mare or doe than to a budding flower. Her body had none of the soft lushness that Ereinion knew most mortal males appreciated. Muscles rippled slightly beneath the sheathing of her golden skin, and he knew that she was a fighter, a warrior; someone who could hold her own if she was challenged.

They walked along the shore, following a path until it curved into the jungle that grew close to the beach. Ereinion paused to look at the deep green fastness of the forest before him, so unlike the forests in the north. There was a warmth in the air that hung around these trees, damp and heavy with the breath of living things both plant and animal.

Sinag-Tala paused at the edge of the forest, tilting her head as she looked at him. "Is something the matter, Ereinion?"

Ereinion shook his head in response. "No, nothing is wrong. It is just that…I have not seen a forest like this before. It seems almost to breathe."

"It is for no small reason that my people believe the forests to be a living thing," Sinag-Tala said with a smile. "We believe that the gods and goddesses are the fathers and mothers of our people, and we respect the jungle as a mother, one who provides for us, her children." She closed her eyes, and the words she spoke seemed almost a chant, a benediction. "We are the children of Amang Langit and Inang Tala, Amang Lu'pa and Inang Gubat, Amang Bagyo and Inang Dag'at, Amang Buwan and Inang A'raw, and Bat'hala watches over us all 1."

"That was beautiful," Ereinion said softly.

Sinag-Tala nodded, though the smile was not on her lips anymore. "My mother taught it to me when I was still a small girl," she replied softly. "It is one the things that the children first learn, apart from the names of their parents."

Ereinion saw a cloud beginning to pass over Sinag-Tala's features, and he decided it would be a good thing to change the subject. "Where does this path lead?" he asked.

"It will take us into a clearing not far from here, where the feast will be." At the mention of the word "feast," Sinag-Tala's features lit up somewhat, and the cloud that threatened to darken her face was lifted. "Come, your friends are waiting for you there already."

They passed into the dark steadfastness of the forest, and Ereinion could almost feel the life that pulsed through it. This was a land that had not yet felt the embrace of darkness, though the shadow seemed to whisper at its edges. Here, life breathed airs so far untainted by evil, and so it thrived in the sanctuary of the forests and the sea.

Ereinion then felt a strong urge to protect this land, to make sure that it was not tainted by evil. He felt that such a land, as this did not have to experience what had happened in the north. It should be spared from destruction, spared from the evils and horrors of war and the encroaching darkness.

They walked past a row of warriors then, and Ereinion realized that all was not as it seemed in this place. These people knew what it was like to have war. They knew of it, for if they did not, they would not have weapons at all, and the steel that went into their making would have instead been used for utensils and tools like knives and axes.

Sinag-Tala stopped, and nodded towards a well-lit section of the clearing, where Glorfindel, Maedhros, Telpeär and Ecthelion were seated, talking animatedly to one another. She smiled at him. "I must leave you now. There are things I have to attend to." She bowed her head slightly in farewell, and then she walked off the path, disappearing into the darkness beyond the light of the flames.

Ereinion sighed, and walked over to his friends, who were all looking at him with teasing expressions on their faces.

"She is quite pretty for a mortal, is she not?" Glorfindel asked lazily. "While mortals are not quite to my taste, I find Sinag-Tala rather unique."

Ecthelion glared at Glorfindel. "This is not like Aman, Glorfindel, where you could get away with your flirtations. You may end up with a severed head for your efforts if you carry them too far."

"Is it wrong to admire her, then?" Glorfindel asked rather defensively.

"She is not there to be flirted with, my friend," Maedhros said in a knowing tone. "She is the leader of her people, and a priestess as well. She has many responsibilities, and I do not think that these responsibilities give her much time for romantic dalliances."

Telpeär blinked at Maedhros. "And where did you learn that?"

"From Talim." Maedhros nodded at the female warrior, who stood at the other end of the clearing, talking and laughing with her fellows.

Ereinion nodded. "It does not surprise me, what you have said. I spoke with her on the way here, and she seems to know full well her responsibilities and duties. She bears the burden of leadership with a grace that is rarely seen nowadays."

Glorfindel chuckled. "Indeed, she has the light, spirited grace of a young doe."

Ereinion sighed, and shook his head even as Ecthelion began reprimanding the golden-haired Elf. Some things simply did not change.

Just then, Sinag-Tala returned to the clearing, but she did not look as pleased or as happy as she had when she led him here. He was puzzled by the change in attitude, but he did not have the time to inquire about it, because the feast began then, and – for the meantime, at least – he forgot about it.

_

* * *

_

_"You must do this, Sinag-Tala. There is none other who could accomplish this task."_

_"But I am needed here more than I am needed out there!"_

_Apo Linangan shook his gray, balding head slowly. "You are the only one who has some knowledge of the world beyond our forests, Sinag-Tala. We know that your father educated you on things beyond our shores and the forest, and we know that you have friends in Khemet. And as for being needed, you truly underestimate your fellows. If it is any consolation to you, we will allow you to choose whoever you wish to leave as regent, or regents, if you wish."_

_Sinag-Tala stared with clenched fists at the elders, trying to keep her anger in check. "You wish to send me away so you can put your own lackeys in my place!" she spat venomously._

_Apo Sugero got to his feet then. At fifty-five he was the youngest in the group, and could still do some things quite quickly. "How dare you throw such an accusation at us!"_

_"Oh I know you," Sinag-Tala sneered. "You did not like it when my father united all the tribes under my grandfather, and you did not like it when he took my grandfather's place. You were all too happy to be rid of him, when you found out that the storm had taken his life. You did not mourn when my mother died. No, you would rather that I was gone and lost, so that you would be able to do as you wished."_

_Apo Iligan spoke up then. "You judge us too harshly, Sinag-Tala," he said, his voice soft and raspy from age. He was the oldest amongst the elders, and while Sinag-Tala had some disdain for the others, she was actually quite fond of Apo Iligan. _

_Knowing that he now had her attention, Apo Iligan continued: "While your dedication to our people is admirable, it is also true that as a leader, you must do something else apart from stay here. The war between Khemet and Umbar is escalating to a fever pitch, and our country is Khemet's neighbor; should Khemet fall, it will not take long for Umbar to come upon us as well._

_"Also, Umbar has a powerful navy. They might consider it to their benefit if they attacked us before they even tried to attack Khemet. Our position on Khemet's eastern flank may prove us a tempting target for Umbar." He shook his head slowly. "No Sinag-Tala, as our leader you should not stay here. There is a war coming, and we will need allies for when that time comes."_

_At his words, Sinag-Tala relaxed. She trusted Apo Iligan, if she didn't trust the others. And she knew, all too well, that he was right._

_"Very well then," she said slowly as she straightened up. "I will think about this tonight, and will give my decision tomorrow." With that, she spun on her heel, and headed back to the clearing where the feast was taking place._

Sinag-Tala sighed as she trudged her way back to her home, the thought heavy on her mind. She was weary from feasting and from thinking. She had hoped that she would get a respite after the feast, but Talim came up to her to tell her that Pambuanan was in labor and would need Sinag-Tala's services as a midwife.

And that was where Sinag-Tala had been all that time. Fortunately, it was not a long birthing, since Pambuanan had already had children before, but nevertheless, it was tiring. Pambuanan was prone to bleeding too heavily when she gave birth, and Sinag-Tala had to ensure that she did not lose too much blood by using the gifts of healing that were part and parcel of her skills as a Water mage.

Her stomach rumbled, and she grimaced. She had not eaten much during the feast, preoccupied as she was with her thoughts. Perhaps there is still some meat left over from the feasting, she thought, and she picked up her pace, heading towards the wooden house that sat between the beach and the forest.

As she drew nearer, she was surprised to hear voices, and one of them seemed to be singing. She stood still, blinking in surprise. Who could still be awake this late at night?

Moving in closer, she kept herself in the shadows to see just who it was that was still awake, and was quite taken by surprise when she saw that it was the five strangers who had arrived that afternoon. They did not seem the worse for wear after their journey, which was surprising, considering how harrowing sailing through the storm must have been.

She stepped into the soft light cast by the lamps that they burned to provide themselves with light. When they glanced at her, she smiled at them, and walked closer. "It is very late. I thought that you would be asleep by now."

Glorfindel smiled at her – a most charming smile. "And we had assumed the same of you, dear lady. Where have you been all this night since the feast?"

"Please, enough with the formalities," Sinag-Tala said, waving a hand in the air to emphasize her point. "I am your hostess, and as my guests you are privileged to call me by my name. As for where I have been…Pambuanan – one of the women here – went into labor. There are other midwives here, but I am the most skilled. And Pambuanan often has complications when she gives birth, so I must be the one to attend to her."

Telpeär blinked. "You are a midwife? But you seem much too young for that, la- I mean, Sinag-Tala."

Sinag-Tala nodded. "At twenty years of age, I know I am, but being midwife and healer is part of my duties as the chief priestess of my people, and because my…talents…are the strongest of all those in Ma'yi who have the same gifts as I do."

Here she glanced down at her palms, gazing at the lines and creases that covered it. She knew that if she tried hard enough, she would be able to see the soft glow of power that emanated from her skin – the mark of one who possessed the gifts of magic. If she used this on others, she would often be able to tell the gifted from those who had none. Some people felt it as a crackle in the air around a person; others heard a gentle hum that changed in pitch depending on that person's elemental leaning. But she, and many others with the gift of magic, often saw the power as a light around a person, varying in color according to the element that said person could control.

Maedhros spoke then, his voice soft and tentative. "I hope that I do not overstep certain bounds when I ask this, but… Sinag-Tala, what is this gift you refer to?"

Sinag-Tala looked at him, smiling softly. He is very much like Father, she thought, and quickly pushed that thought away. "My father said that you folk of the North know next to nothing about the powers of we who live in the East and South, which is quite an unfortunate thing. But worry not: you have overstepped no bounds, and I would be willing to explain to you what these gifts are."

And so she explained it to them, speaking of the energies of Earth, Fire, Air and Water, and how those born with enough strength can manipulate these energies and use them as they wish. While all beings who were ever born in the world do have an attunement to particular elements, only a very few – those who were called mages – ever had the strength to use them in a visible manner.

"But we can never bend the elements totally to our will," she clarified. "That is sacrilege, for only the gods can ever wield complete control over them. Not even the strongest Water mage can ever change the tides of the sea, and no Earth mage, no matter how powerful, can cause a mountain to crumble or bring up to the surface the most precious ores and metals. We are merely _allowed_ to use them, and if we are not careful, the elements can just as easily turn against the wielder."

"But why can only the people of the East and the South use such powers?" Ecthelion asked. "If it is indeed as you say – that all have an attunement to these energies – then why is it that only your folk, and the other folk of the South and East, can wield them as you say?"

"I asked my father that same question once," Sinag-Tala replied, and she felt herself smile slightly. "He said that it was because of the Elves that the people of the North had never found the need to attune themselves to their own spirit and find the wellspring of their own power. He said that the Elves were magical folk in their own right, but they had no need to use such powers as we do, for they did not find it necessary. And because of that, the folk of the North never learned to find their gifts."

Maedhros looked at her, and his gray eyes were dark and unfathomable. "Where was your father from? Did he tell you where from the North he was from?"

"He said that he was from Dol Amroth. I have heard of that place: it is said that the people there are descended of Elves."

* * *

Maedhros felt his hopes drop slightly. That would explain, then, why Sinag-Tala had gray eyes. Just as he had thought, her father was merely descended of Elves, and was by no means Elven, or even half-Elven.

No, he thought, she is not Maglor's child.

A companionable silence settled in then, and when it was broken it was because Telpeär spoke up, his voice curious. "Sinag-Tala… Is there meaning to your name?"

Sinag-Tala smiled. "It means 'Starshine' or 'Starlight' in the archaic form of our tongue. Sometimes it is still used in poetry to refer to starlight. My mother said that it was because of the color of my eyes, which are the same as that of my father. My father said he had been amused at the name, and proposed to name me something else in the tongue of his people, but my mother was adamant that I should have the name I bear now."

Maedhros leaned in her direction. "You speak of your father very often, Sinag-Tala. It is apparent that you love him dearly. Please, tell us more about him."

Sinag-Tala smiled at him, and bowed her head – but not before Maedhros caught the faint glimmer of tears. "Someday, perhaps, I will tell you of my father, and more besides, but not right now. The hour is late, and I am weary. Forgive me, but I must go to bed now."

She did not wait for them to grant her leave; she merely stood up, and walked up the small steps that led into the house, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

A silence settled in again, but this time, it was far from comfortable. At length, Ereinion spoke. "I feel for her," he murmured. "She lost her family at an early age, and has had to be strong from that day onward. Perhaps, I was even more fortunate than she, in that I did not have to take up the reins of leadership so early in my life. She has had to be a leader of her people since she was eleven."

Ecthelion shook his head. "It is cruel, in a way. She was forced to become an adult so soon. She must have never had the chance to enjoy her childhood." He tilted his head, and smiled at his companions. "Yet in a way, I must admire her strength, because even at such a young age, she knew that she had responsibilities that she must fulfill, and did her best to keep them."

Ereinion nodded thoughtfully, and stared off into the darkness, his eyes distant.

And then Glorfindel chose the moment to strike. "Her name means 'Starlight'… How strange, Ereinion, that you should share the same name as she."

"We do not," Ereinion retorted.

"Ah, but were you not once known as Gil-galad, and did it not mean the same as her name?" Glorfindel chuckled as he leaned his head back, looking up at the sky. "Strange that you should share so many aspects with her – situation, position…why, even your names are similar!" He turned his gaze to the now-seething former High King. "Such connections certainly imply something…"

Maedhros rolled his eyes, and shook his head as Glorfindel and Ereinion traded answers and rejoinders. Ereinion was right, he thought, remembering that night in Tirion that seemed so long ago now: Glorfindel had barely changed at all.

* * *

1 - This is basically a listing of the Valar and Maiar that the Ma'yen hold in highest reverence. These are Tagalog names, and have been fashioned to suit the Vala or Maia in question. Amang Langit is Manwë; Inang Tala is Varda; Amang Lu'pa is Aulë; Inang Gubat is Yavanna; Amang Bagyo is Ossë; Inang Dag'at is Uinen; Amang Buwan is Tilion; Inang A'raw is Anar; and Bat'hala is Eru Ilúvatar. 


	15. Chapter 14: Decisions and Announcements

**Chapter Fourteen: Decisions and Announcements**

He gazed in silence at the wooden house in front of him, watching as Inang A'raw cast her light upon it, giving it a warm, golden hue. He heard her voice, chanting out a welcome to the sun, as was her duty as babaylan of their people.

He recalled the strangers who had arrived only yesterday, and felt jealousy knife its way through his heart. It is not right, he thought. Why should Sinag-Tala feel drawn to these folk, to these people whom she knew nothing of? She did not know what they were like, knew nothing of their customs and their ways. They were genteel in their ways, true, but that may have been only a façade for them to hide behind.

He remembered the way she had looked at one of the strangers – the one who was named Ereinion. He saw the way her face flushed at his smile, the way she seemed to grow flustered at his attentions. Sinag-Tala had never acted that way before around anyone. She had always been cool-headed, presenting a calm attitude that showed she was in control, even if the situation was already getting quite out-of-hand.

She certainly had never acted that way around any man before. Many had been teased in her direction, but she had always laughed, and said that there was nothing there. She had many male friends, who respected her as their leader and priestess, and loved her as a friend and sister. Some might have once entertained the thought of being wed to her, but since he had made his intentions known to his fellows three months ago, none had dared to challenge him:

_"Someday soon, I will ask her to marry me."_

_His friends laughed then. It was a common joke amongst them: someone would express a wish to marry Sinag-Tala, but then they would never push through with the plan. They often took bets as to how long it would be before the unfortunate soul would concede that he had never asked the question of Sinag-Tala._

_Lawin chortled as he carefully picked apart a roasted fish. "Yes, yes, we have heard that before, Hiraya. How many of us here have said the same thing, and never gone through with it? If any one of us had asked her that question, then she would have probably been well and married since she was eighteen."_

_Hiraya turned his gaze to them. "I am completely serious. I will ask her sometime soon, but not now."_

_The look on his face and the tone of his voice made it very, very clear that he was serious. This was no small thing spoken of jokingly amongst them; it was something he had thought long and hard over, and it was something he was intent on doing. _

_"Are you sure that you will do it?" Agila asked, having not spoken until that moment. "She is not just one of those maidens who flirt with you all the time, Hiraya. She is leader, and babaylan, and daughter of Taer Manansala."_

_Naraga nodded in agreement. "And let us not forget that she is a warrior as well, the equal of yourself when it comes to the sword and the spear. Women like her do not give their hand freely to just anyone." He smiled as he leaned back. "Take me, for instance. It was no easy feat, winning Pambuanan's hand. In fact, I still have scars from the times when she tried to make her point clear to me that she did not want to marry. Not that her threats and attacks served her well in the end, but they certainly hurt when she inflicted them!"_

_Hiraya nodded. "I am aware of all that you have said, but I believe that I am worthy of her. We have known each other since our childhood, and we have been friends for as long as that. She might have her duties now to think of, but I know that she still looks upon Talim and I as her dearest friends and companions. While I hesitate to say that I know her completely, I would not hesitate to say that I know her better than any of you here – enough, perhaps, to hope that she will consider my proposal."_

_Hinango, the eldest in their group and the only one who had really had the courage to ask Sinag-Tala for her hand in marriage, asked then, "Has she ever looked upon you with the same forlorn look that the other maidens give you?"_

_Hiraya shook his head, though he did not see the point in Hinango's question. "No."_

_"Not even in private?"_

_"No. But she is not like the other maidens."_

_Hinango shook his head. "Even if she were not, she would have shown some sign that she was drawn to you, no matter how small it might have been. Go, and ask her for her hand if you wish, but I do hope that you will not take it so badly if she refuses your offer." _

He had asked for her hand. He had seen the flustered look on her face, the surprise and the discomfort at being caught off-guard. She had not dismissed him with finality, the way she had done with Hinango, but she gave him no certainties, either. Something in him had been disappointed that she had not accepted his offer right then and there, but he knew that was just his pride. He would give her time, wait for an answer. Whether she accepted his offer or not was not for him to decide.

But then, the strangers had arrived, and everything changed.

Why had she never looked at him the way she looked at the strangers? Was he somehow unworthy? Was there something in him that she found inadequate? He shook his head. No, Sinag-Tala had never found fault in him before. She had never found cause to think him unworthy – Talim had said so herself when he had approached her for advice.

And yet he remembered the glimmer in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, when she spoke to the strangers, and again, envy lanced through his soul, sharper and more painful than any wound he had ever gotten while hunting in the jungle or fishing in the sea.

"Hiraya?"

He jerked his head up then, and felt his cheeks flush in shame when he saw Sinag-Tala standing not that far away from him. He bowed to her in respect and greeting. "Babaylan Sinag-Tala."

She laughed, and approached him, grasping his shoulders with her hands. "Hiraya, please. There is no need to address me with such formality. It is just the two of us here. No one will hear or see." She smiled at him as he lifted his head up. "And you are my friend. You have no need to address me as priestess and leader."

He gazed down at her, her gray eyes shining in the growing light like the moonlight off the foam-capped waves. "If that is what you wish, Sinag."

She stepped away, looking at him for a while, before she bowed her head. "I am sorry for what happened a few nights ago. Your…offer caught me off-guard. I was not prepared to hear you ask for my hand in marriage."

His heart felt a little lighter. So there was hope for him yet! He gazed at her, more fully now. "Then does that mean you accept my proposal?"

"I am sorry, but I cannot accept it."

Hiraya's heart plummeted. Hinango had warned him of this, and yet he had been stubborn, he had been insistent on going through what was obviously a plan doomed to failure. He should have known better, should have known that she would never accept it. Had his fears, then, been true? Did she think him unworthy of her?

Her hand gently touched his arm, and he wanted to pull away from her, wanted to draw away from her touch. How could he ever feel her touch again, when he knew that she would never be his?

"Hiraya, look at me, listen to me," she said softly, almost pleadingly. When he looked at her again, she said: "There is a difference between 'cannot' and 'will not.' I have not refused your offer completely. It is simply that there is something else I must do first, and…and I must have some time to understand what I feel for you."

The ache in his heart was eased somewhat at her words. So he was not turning her away; she was merely asking for time. Hope was not completely out of his reach yet.

He grasped her hand gently in his, and nodded. "I will give you as much time as you will need, Sinag. I can wait."

She smiled, and it seemed as if she was almost as relieved as he was. "Whatever may come of this – of you and me – I would not want to lose the bond of friendship that we have, and so I ask you to wait." She squeezed his fingers momentarily, before she let go. She smiled up at him then. "Thank you."

He nodded, and smiled back at her. He would have embraced her, as he usually did during moments like these, but somehow that did not seem appropriate, given what they had just discussed. Instead, he squeezed her hand one last time, before letting go, and smiling as he tilted his head in a curious angle. "So, what is this 'something' that you must do, that causes you to delay accepting my offer?"

He had expected she would laugh, but her face remained serious. She frowned, and little lines formed on her brow when she did so. "I must leave Ma'yi for a time. I must go into the world beyond our borders and see how all things fare with our neighbors."

Hiraya's jaw dropped. She could not mean that – she _did not_ mean that. "You will leave Ma'yi?"

She nodded grimly. "I must do this, Hiraya. The elders are right; the tensions between Khemet and Umbar will soon reach a breaking point, and once it does, not even our country will be safe."

"Half the elders want you out of Ma'yi," Hiraya muttered. "You know very well how much they disliked being placed under your grandfather's rule. The only reason they have not risen against you is that Apo Iligan, Apo Maya and Apo Tugon keep them in check."

He was very familiar with the situation amongst the council of elders: most of them were chiefs who, after the tribal wars had been quelled by Taer Manansala, Sinag-Tala's father, had gone into the service of Apo Lesaka, Sinag-Tala's grandfather. His father had been a warrior in the service of Apo Lesaka at that time, and was very familiar with the petty political maneuverings of the other chieftains. Many of them grumbled about being subjected to Lesaka's rule, but they dared not complain while Lesaka or Taer or even Dilag Dayanghirang, Lesaka's daughter, were around.

Hiraya was also told the story of how the other elders had prayed that Dilag would never bear a child after Lesaka died, so that there would be no heir left to rule once Taer and Dilag were gone. But their prayers were for naught, for a year after Lesaka's death, Dilag gave birth to a daughter who was named Sinag-Tala.

But now, Taer was dead, and so was Dilag. Sinag-Tala was the only one left. And with war just beyond the horizon, the elders had finally seen their chance to be rid of Sinag-Tala once and for all.

"I know," Sinag-Tala said softly, and Hiraya heard the pain n her voice, saw the flicker of old memories flash through her eyes. "But they are right. Even Apo Iligan supports them, and you know how much I respect his advice. I believe that he wishes no ill of me."

Hiraya relaxed slightly then. If Apo Iligan had supported the idea of Sinag-Tala leaving Ma'yi for a time, then it was indeed for the safety of their nation, and not simply to get rid of Sinag-Tala. "But you cannot leave Ma'yi leaderless. And I am sure you will not allow any of the elders to govern while you are gone."

Sinag-Tala smiled up at him then, and placed a hand on his arm trustingly. "That is I why I wish to appoint you, Hiraya. You and Talim will act as my regents while I am gone."

He stared at her, wide-eyed at the proposal. He and Talim, rule as regents in her place? "Sinag-"

"Do not argue with me, Hiraya," she said as she shook her head firmly, slowly putting on the attitude of the leader of her people. "You are the only two people I can trust here in Ma'yi to lead our people as I would. You both have the strength to stand against those among the elders, who would wish to see me gone, and the wisdom and temperance to rule properly. I would choose no others for this important task."

Hiraya stared at her for a long while, and at length, he sighed, and bowed his head in acceptance. "Let it be as you wish, Sinag."

This time she embraced him, and while he hesitated at first, he returned it, holding her in his arms, and realizing that he would be content to simply hold her like this, and let the whole world slip by them both.

After a pause that felt too short to him, she moved away, sliding out of his arms. He mentally sighed in disappointment as he let her go. "Where shall you go now?"

She nodded towards the house. "I must go and prepare for today. There is much to be done."

Hiraya nodded, his eyes fixing on the white ship that had been brought into the reef very late last night, when the tide was at its highest. "Yes, there is much to be done indeed."

* * *

Glorfindel had not slept much the previous night. He had spent most of it staring up at the dark hardwood beams that crisscrossed high above his head, trying to figure out the puzzle that was Sinag-Tala's heritage in his mind. Maedhros had voiced out his suspicions about Sinag-Tala's possible Elven heritage to them the night before, even though Sinag-Tala herself said that her father had come from Dol Amroth.

But how much does she really know about her father, Glorfindel wondered. He believed that it was not much. Taer Manansala, as he was called, was something of a mystery even to the other people of Ma'yi. Though he had been mentioned often in Pallando's journals, whatever had been said about him was vague and did nothing to point out who he really was. All that was known was that he had arrived, suddenly and mysteriously, from the North, and he had helped quell the tribal wars that had been going on when he arrived.

He knew why Maedhros had such high hopes concerning Sinag-Tala's heritage: he had hoped that Maglor had been the one who had fathered her, and in that case, she would be able to tell him where his brother was.

And this was where the puzzle came in. If indeed Maglor was Sinag-Tala's father, then he should have been in the Halls of Mandos already, since, according to Sinag-Tala, he had died when she was ten years old. Yet if her father _was_ Maglor, then he was not yet dead, no matter what Sinag-Tala said about him drowning in a storm. Still, there was the ever-present possibility that Sinag-Tala's father was mortal, in which case he would not be in the Halls of Mandos at all.

Her father must have been mortal, Glorfindel thought as he tied his hair in his usual braids again. If her father were indeed from Dol Amroth, as Sinag-Tala had said, then it would explain why she had gray eyes. Most likely, he was a member of the nobility, since most of the gray-eyed folk in Dol Amroth were related to the Royal House of Gondor in one way or another.

And yet, while it was the most plausible explanation, it did not explain certain things about Sinag-Tala herself. It did not explain the keen brightness of her eyes, or the sound of her voice. Glorfindel had known Maglor, and the undercurrent that ran in his voice also ran in Sinag-Tala's.

It would explain, then, why Maedhros' hopes seemed to have risen when he met Sinag-Tala. Maedhros and Maglor had been the closest of all of Fëanor's sons to each other, so of all the people in Arda and in Aman, Maedhros was the best equipped to recognize his brother, even if he went disguised as a mortal. His hopes seemed to have dropped since Sinag-Tala's revelation the previous night, but it still flickered there. Maedhros would find his brother, no matter how far or how long it took to do so.

He had finished dressing himself for the day, so he stood up and headed for the outside of the house. When he got there, he noticed that a small group of elderly folk had gathered not that far away. Sinag-Tala was amongst them, and they seemed to be discussing things of great importance. Though Glorfindel could not understand a single word of the tongue that the Ma'yen used, he could tell that the topic of discussion was very important, due to the cadence and rapidity with which the words were spoken.

They must have been talking for quite some time before he arrived, because a few moments later, Sinag-Tala waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal, and the council dispersed. Sinag-Tala bowed her head wearily, before she looked up and gazed at the horizon of the sea.

Glorfindel smiled as he approached her. "You did not seem pleased with the way that meeting concluded."

The young woman sighed, and shook her head. "No, I was not pleased, but it was the best that I could do." She squinted her eyes at the horizon, as if she could see something there that he could not. "Change is in the air, and war comes on the wind and the waves. Even now the air is as tight as a drawn bowstring, waiting for the time when it will break and reverberate chaos and blood across the land. And when that bowstring breaks, it will be too late."

A dark foreboding settled on Glorfindel's heart when he heard Sinag-Tala speak in such a manner. He had not noticed it – rather, he had tried to ignore it – but now he could feel it: the tightness in the air, as if something large and dangerous was about to shatter.

Turgon had told him, long ago, that peace in Arda was a tenuous thing, a watchful quiet between storms. The histories always spoke of Gondolin as being a land of peace amidst the swirling chaos that were the wars of the First Age, but he knew, and Ecthelion knew, that the peace of Gondolin was a wary, mindful one. Gondolin would not have been as peaceful as it had been were it not for the constant vigilance of those who manned the walls and gate.

He shook his head. That was all in the past now. There was a new war here that he had to contend with, and he could only thank the Valar that it there was no Dark Lord controlling it from the shadows. It was merely due to the greed of mortals who did not know what they were getting themselves into.

Somehow, though, that idea did not sound as comforting as he would have liked to think.

"I hope I do not overstep my bounds by asking," Glorfindel began, "but what did you discuss with them? And who were they?"

Sinag-Tala's frown deepened slightly. "They are the council of elders, who often advise me and help me to in ruling my people. And we were discussing what course of action I should take to ensure that Ma'yi remains safe if and when a war does happen."

"And what course of action did they suggest?"

"They suggested that I leave Ma'yi for a time, and go on a journey outside of our borders. After all, they said, I had traveled beyond the bounds of Ma'yi before, and that I had friends in Khemet and Rûmenyen who would help me find out what was happening – and quite possibly secure an alliance for Ma'yi should the war indeed come to our shores."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "And are these things true?"

Sinag-Tala shrugged. "They are, but it has been so long since I last traveled beyond these borders. The last time I did so was eleven years ago, and many things have surely changed since then. I no longer know where I might find certain people, or," her voice softened here, "if they are even alive." She shook her head, as if dismissing that unpleasant thought from her mind. "But they are right. I must go out into the world, and see what knowledge I can find, and hopefully, come back here and use it for the safety of my people."

But Glorfindel was certain that there was something else that was troubling her. He wanted to ask about it, but he thought that it would not be wise to do so right now. So instead, he latched on the current topic of discussion. "Who will accompany you on your journey?"

She looked up at him, and offered a small smile. "I was considering that I would accompany you and your friends. Your ship will not be ready for quite some time, and I do not think you wish to remain idle here in Ma'yi. I could guide you to where you wish to go, and make sure that you find someone who will help you before I go my own way."

Glorfindel gazed at her, considering the offer. It was a very tempting one, and very convenient for him and his friends. They would need someone who could help them get to Yaminah, and it seemed that Sinag-Tala could help them get there. He smiled. "Perhaps it would be wise if we discussed this with my companions."

She nodded in agreement. "I was thinking of that. Do you suppose they would be willing to talk of it now?"

"There is only one way to know, and that is to ask," Glorfindel said, and he led her towards where Ecthelion, Ereinion, Maedhros and Telpeär were watching the Ma'yen shipwrights checking the damages of their ship.

"My friends," he called as he and Sinag-Tala approached. "Sinag-Tala has offered to be our guide on our journey."

The young woman lowered her head slightly in a bow. "If you will let me."


	16. Chapter 15: Questions and Answers

**Chapter Fifteen: Questions and Answers**

Anar was already shining full upon the sands of Ma'yi by the time most of the people had gathered on the beach in front of Sinag-Tala's home. Telpeär watched as they clustered in front of the wooden house, and he could clearly see the concern written on their faces. Perhaps rumor had already begun to spread that Sinag-Tala would be leaving them, and they wanted to know why she had even considered doing so during such a crucial time.

Sinag-Tala was standing in a space just in front of her house, her left hand grasping her spear. A slim leather band held her hair back from her face, from the ends of which dangled small pearls and feathers. Bangles of gold and coral were wrapped around her wrists, and a ring of white coral hung from a leather thong around her throat. Golden bangles also gleamed from her ankles, but it was the tattoo that ran the length of her thigh, from her knee to the bottom of her hip, that arrested his attention.

None of the Quendi in Aman had such markings upon them. In fact, the concept of tattooing was unheard amongst those who had lived in Aman their entire life. The only reason why Telpeär was familiar with it at all was because his father had often spoken of tattooed warriors from the south of Arda, who were amongst those who had gone to war against Gondor in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields.

Yet the tattoos of these people were strangely beautiful, works of art etched with pain and blood into the living canvas of human flesh. Most were geometrical designs that were supposed to imitate images in nature, or abstract designs that certainly meant something to them, but Telpeär did not have the courage to ask what they meant. For all he knew, they meant something that was not to be revealed – or did not mean anything at all.

Movement caught his eye, and he looked up in time to watch as Sinag-Tala raised her right hand just above her head, calling for attention and for silence. The gathered crowd slowly turned to her, and all hushed their voices to hear her speak.

"My people, I thank you for gathering here, in spite of the duties that call to you." Sinag-Tala's voice was well modulated and clear, obviously the voice of one who was used to issuing commands and being in control. Yet there was a resonance, an underlying current in her voice that told Telpeär something more.

Sinag-Tala lowered her hand, and continued to speak: "Some of you may have sensed it, and some of you may have heard rumor of it. Regardless of how you have come across the knowledge, you all know that war and evil threaten our peaceful nation."

Her gaze trailed towards the western side of Ma'yi, and her voice became edged with worry. "A storm of violence and blood brews on our western border, and the tension pulls at us, tugs at us. It looms closer upon us every day that passes, and we do not know when the tension shall break and the lightning strike us.

"I do not wish that such uncertainty should hang upon your heads. You must be free to do the things you normally do, to live your lives as you would." She then fixed her gaze upon a small group of children who were standing up front. A small, sad smile graced her lips as she looked upon them. "I wish that the children would continue to play upon our shores and swim in our seas with no fear of what may come.

"And it is because of this that I take my leave of you, my people, that I may go out into the world and seek the knowledge that will tell us whether we may rest easy, or," here she hefted her spear up slightly, "take up arms and fight."

A storm of whispers and murmurs broke over the crowd. Telpeär could not make out what was being said, but he sensed that many were not pleased with Sinag-Tala leaving them, especially since her guidance would be crucial during the coming years, should the war that they feared indeed find its way to their shores.

Once more Sinag-Tala lifted her hand, calling for silence. When the crowd had quieted down, she began again: "I know what you are thinking: you think me cruel and heartless, to leave you when you need guidance the most. But I am not as cruel and heartless as you would think, for I appoint Hiraya and Talim to lead you in my place."

Sinag-Tala gestured then, and the two aforementioned warriors stepped forward. Talim had a resigned expression on her face, but Hiraya did not seem as accepting as his companion. The warrior constantly glanced at Sinag-Tala, and Telpeär read the concern in his eyes.

Sinag-Tala stepped back a little, so that the attention of those gathered would be focused on her two regents. "I have known Talim and Hiraya since my childhood, and I trust them even with my life. You have known them, some longer than I have, and you know that they are honorable and wise, and will rule well in my stead." She paused, her eyes sweeping the crowd. "If there is anyone here who wishes to disagree, then please, step forward and speak."

There were murmurs again, but more hushed now. Sinag-Tala waited, but none stepped forward. She smiled to herself, and bowed her head. "So it is agreed. Now I bid you all a farewell, and pray that the gods look kindly upon you all." With that, she turned her back on the crowd, and walked into the house.

Telpeär watched as the crowd dispersed, everyone going back to their usual tasks. But, unlike a few moments ago, they all seemed perturbed, and a dark veil hung over them as dark thoughts wandered their minds.

He walked towards the house, entering the warm darkness within. Because these structures were built with no windows, the only light that came in was through the door, or from the many small oil lamps that they lit inside.

He found Sinag-Tala sitting on a reed mat behind one of the posts that held the structure up. She was staring into the darkness, her eyes unfocused, unseeing. Her hands rested in her lap, palms facing upward.

There was an air of calmness, of peace, around her at that moment that Telpeär found quite soothing, even to his own spirit. He settled down beside her slowly, so as not to disturb her, but with enough noise to indicate that he was nearby. When she made no move to leave or to send him away, he relaxed, and lost himself in his own thoughts.

He closed his eyes, remembering Alqualondë and the harbors and quays that were the center of life there. He remembered, too, the way the sea smelled, and the way the water felt against his legs and feet when he walked down the coastline. He remembered the glimmer of pearls and the sea foam during the nights when Isil rose full and bright in the sky, and the songs that were sung to welcome Varda's stars into the expanse of the night.

And then he compared it to how it was like here in Ma'yi. The sea smelled different, and even the water felt different too. The sand of the coastline was like powder and was dazzling in its whiteness, though no pearls were to be found strewn amongst the grains. The people here sang different songs, and in a different tongue, but they honored still the moon and the stars, and though their voices were not as beautiful as those of the Teleri, Telpeär still found them fair, for he could still somehow hear the voice of the sea reflected in them.

The people of Ma'yi, he realized, lived with the throb and beat of life as it drummed a rhythm through the passing of years. The sea and the forest each had a different heartbeat, but they moved to both, learning to find a balance between the two and living their lives according to that beat. They heard Arda's secret melodies, and respected and revered them.

He sensed a shift beside him, and he opened his eyes, turning to Sinag-Tala as he did so. She was no longer staring straight ahead; rather, her head was bowed, her hair flowing against the side of her face to make an almost impenetrable curtain. "Sinag-Tala?"

She raised her head, and looked up at him, and her eyes seemed nearly unfocused, distant, but then they cleared, and she saw him. She smiled at him. "Forgive me for not greeting you when you sat beside me. It seems I have kept you waiting. Was there something you wished to speak with me about?"

Telpeär shook his head, returning the smile. "There was nothing, Sinag-Tala. I merely wished to keep you company."

She nodded. "Ah." She stood up then, and Telpeär noticed that her hands were wet, water dripping from them as if she had dipped them into a stream or the sea or a basin of water. He nodded at her hands. "Why are they wet? Have you been weeping?"

Sinag-Tala blinked, not comprehending, and then understanding dawned on her, and she laughed softly. "No, no, I was not weeping." She lifted her hand, and touched his arm with it. Telpeär felt a tingling sensation, followed by something cool and soothing, flow through his arm and into the rest of him.

Sinag-Tala drew her hand away, letting it dangle against her side. "It happens to me, at times, when I find myself lost in thought. Since I am a Water mage, there are times when my power summons itself to my hands without my knowing it, especially when I am deep in thought."

"Is that not a dangerous thing?" Telpeär asked.

"No, it is not. Had I not received any proper training, then perhaps it would have been dangerous, but I have been taught how to control most of my powers, so I do not pose a threat to anyone." She smiled ruefully then. "But I was born with gifts greater than most, and so there are times when I lose some of that control, and this is what happens." She lifted her damp hand for emphasis. "While it is not in any way dangerous to anyone or to myself, I get annoyed at myself because of my lack of control."

Telpeär frowned. "So you mean to say that your powers are also potentially dangerous? You did not mention this last night when you spoke of them."

Sinag-Tala shrugged. "I did not think it was necessary for you to know. But since you seem curious, and you have asked about it, then I shall explain as I prepare my things for our journey tomorrow."

Telpeär acquiesced to her suggestion, and followed her as she gathered supplies and other essentials for the journey she was to make with them on the morrow. She told him that mages might have been born with their magical powers, but they were nor born with the control necessary to rein them in. That control, she said, was learned, and complete mastery did not come without discipline and hard work.

When he asked what were the consequences should this control not be learned, she paused in the middle of picking up a small jar and placing it in the leather bag she would use for the journey. She slowly lifted her eyes to look at him, and replied: "There is no worse way to die, than to be torn apart by something within you that you cannot control."

Telpeär sucked in a breath. He could imagine how it would be like to die in such a way, but he refused to let the image stand before his mind's eye for any longer than a heartbeat. It was not something he wished to think about.

"Have any died?"

Sinag-Tala's gaze lowered slightly. "There have been a few who have, amongst my people, but it is rare. I do not know how it is in the other countries, but I am sure that they have had deaths as well."

"Have you been witness to one?"

"No. And I thank the gods that I have not witnessed it happening, because I would not want to be there when such a horrible thing happens. There are better ways to die than that."

Telpeär nodded, glad that he had gotten answers to most of his questions. There were still a few that needed answers, but he did not want them right then. They could wait.

Sinag-Tala seemed to agree with that sentiment, though he did not voice it out, because she immediately focused on getting her supplies together. To keep his mind off of it, he questioned Sinag-Tala about the things she was bringing with her – in particular, the herbs and salves she was placing into her pack.

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"And what are these?"

"These are plantain leaves. They come from trees that grow abundantly in the jungle. Most of the time we pick the fruits for food, but we use the leaves as a poultice, which we apply on wounds, sores, stings, and animal bites. In the jungle it is always a wise idea to pick some plantain leaves when one has the chance, in case one gets bitten or is wounded."

Ereinion watched Sinag-Tala and Telpeär from his place just outside his room, as Sinag-Tala gathered supplies for the journey they were going to make through the jungle, and Telpeär asked her questions.

I must give her credit for her patience, Ereinion thought in amusement. Telpeär was as curious as an Elfling, though he could not be considered one anymore – at least, not in Aman. But Telpeär had never been out of Aman, and so Arda was something completely different from what he was used to.

Then again, he mused, the things _he_ was seeing were very different from what he was used to in the north of Arda.

They must have seen him, standing at the edge of the shadow and the light, because they started coming towards him. He smiled as they approached. "Forgive me for listening in, but your conversation was very interesting."

Telpeär nodded, grinning. "Herblore has always fascinated me, but most of my education has been maritime in nature, and so I have little time to study anything else, though the subject may intrigue me."

Sinag-Tala laughed, and bowed to Telpeär. "It is always a pleasure to teach one who is eager to learn."

"You are a good teacher," Telpeär responded, bowing to her as well.

"And you must have a patience that could stretch to the bottom of the sea," Ereinion added, smiling now, ready to break out into laughter.

Sinag-Tala laughed, carefully adjusting her hold on the satchel she carried in her arms. "It was not a virtue that came naturally to me, but now I must admit that it has served me well during many times in the past." She looked up at him curiously. "Was there something you wished to talk about?"

"Nothing that is of utmost importance, although I do have a question in mind – as do the others." Ereinion looked up at Telpeär. "And you must come with us, for it concerns you, as well."

Sinag-Tala nodded thoughtfully. "I see." She paused, as if thinking, and then added, slowly, as if hesitating to speak if it: "I know of a place where we may discuss this."

Ereinion smiled his thanks. "We are very grateful, Sinag-Tala." He glanced at Telpeär, who, guessing his request, nodded, and went off in another direction to find Maedhros, Ecthelion, and Glorfindel.

He and Sinag-Tala stood in silence, watching as Telpeär disappeared around a corner outside the house. At length, he asked, "Are you certain that you wish to come with us?"

"I have made my decision," Sinag-Tala said softly. "I must go out and seek knowledge for the safety of my people. I cannot simply allow myself to stand by, when I know that there is something I can do for them by going out and seeking what we should know. That is my duty, and I have always followed my duty."

Ereinion half-smiled, feeling as if he was listening to an echo of his old self. "Life is not always about duty, Sinag-Tala. There is more to it than that." He turned to her, tilting his head curiously. "Surely you must have a lover. Women of your age are rarely ever unwed for long."

Sinag-Tala blushed slightly, but her face did not move, and she did not look at him. "My duty is my life, Ereinion," she said quietly. "I have nothing to think of outside of it. I have no more family, and my friends have their own lives to lead. The only time I find solace is when I swim with the dolphins. They are the only ones who do not ask much of me.

"And as for a lover, I have none. Many have asked for my hand in marriage, but I have refused them all, on the grounds that I know nothing about them, and they know nothing about me. My father married my mother because he loved her, and she loved him, and for no other reason. I intend to do the same."

Ereinion knew that she was lying when she said that she had no lover. He had sensed that Hiraya held feelings for her, and that Sinag-Tala felt the same, but what he did not understand was what was keeping them apart. He had suspected that it was because Sinag-Tala was so dedicated to her duty, and in a way, his suspicions were correct.

At the same time, he felt that there was something else at work here, something that he did not quite see or grasp at the moment, and it was the answer to this question: why was it that every time he thought of Sinag-Tala and Hiraya together, he could feel the noose of envy tighten its hold around his heart?

Just then, Telpeär reentered the house, followed by Maedhros, Glorfindel, and Ecthelion, and his thoughts were redirected to more important matters.

It seemed that Sinag-Tala was of like mind, because she straightened up, and looked at the others with a serious expression on her face. "Come."

They followed her out of the house through the back way, following a path that wended its way into the depths of the jungle. They walked amongst the trees for a while, until Sinag-Tala made a sharp turn that seemed to lead back to the beach.

But the path did not take them back to the beach, as Ereinion had expected. Instead, it led them to a small clearing through which ran a trilling stream. Save for the sound of the water and the wind through the trees, there was nothing else to be heard.

Sinag-Tala walked to what Ereinion had assumed was a rock, but turned out to be roughly hewn chair, and sat down on it. "This is a sacred meeting place, secured and warded with magic so old and powerful that none have been able to understand their weaving or their breaking," she explained, indicating other rocks similar to the one she was sitting in. "Save for the trees, the water, the sunlight, and the wind, there is nothing and no one here who will overhear our conversation. So you may speak as freely as you wish, and have no fear of anyone else hearing it."

Ereinion nodded gratefully, as he and the others took their seats in the chairs. "We wished to speak with you of our journey."

Sinag-Tala tilted her head inquiringly. "Yes? What of it?"

"We wished to know where you would take us," Maedhros replied. He smiled slightly. "We do not mean to act so suspicious, but you must understand that this land is foreign to us, and we would appreciate it if you explained what we were going to do, instead of us merely following you blindly."

Sinag-Tala smiled, and as she leaned back into the seat of stone Ereinion caught a glimpse of her as her duty had made her: a leader of Men, and – after the way of her people – a servant of the Valar. "You are wise indeed, to ask me such things. Do not worry; I do not hold it against you as a sign of suspicion. I would have been more suspicious had you not asked me that.

"What I intend to do is to lead you through the jungle and into the land of Rûmenyen that lies between our jungle and the shores of the Shin Chin Lake. One of my friends lives there. Though he now lives the life of a hermit, I know for a fact that he has a very high position in the Imperial Court. He would be able to help us gather information.

"After I bring you to him, our paths may take different directions. If you so choose, you may journey to Rûmenyen and try to seek the one whom you call Maglor there, or you may accompany me to Khemet and eventually to Yaminah, and I will help you look for Anna Nefertari. But you need not make your decision now; you may decide what do once we are near the border of the jungle."

Glorfindel spoke up then. "Why do we not just take the seaward route to Yaminah? I have seen that your people are mariners. Why not send us to the port of Yaminah itself?"

"And risk you getting captured by Umbar pirates? No, I do not think that wise." Sinag-Tala frowned. "Fishermen who venture close to the waters surrounding Yaminah report that more and more of the Umbarians' black ships could be seen floating nearby. They were always careful to stay out of sight, though one time three of the boats that were on a fishing trip together were nearly caught. It was only through the blessing of Amang Langit and the protection of Inang Dag'at that they were able to get away safely.

"I understand your need for haste, but attempting this venture too quickly may only lead to failure. Everyone must be cautious – even you who are only out to find two people. One misstep could mean that your missions end in failure."

Ereinion nodded solemnly. "We understand, Sinag-Tala."

The woman nodded in acknowledgement, before she continued, "In any case, what you must worry about at the moment is your journey through the jungle. While I may be there to guide you, it is still quite inhospitable to those who are not used to it. You must always keep watch, and be alert. There are dangers here that you of the North may have never even dreamed of."

"And what are those dangers?" Ecthelion asked, his voice low.

"Poisonous plants, venomous snakes, insects, feral hounds, and carnivorous cats, to name but a few. Some of these dangers I can warn you of early. It is not difficult to spot a jaguar prowling for a meal, though it may get more difficult at night. But the others…I may not warn you in time for you to avoid the bite of a viper or a spider, so it would be wise of you to keep your eyes open, and not to touch anything unless I say that you may.

"Bear this in mind: nothing is ever as it seems in the jungle. What may seem harmless to you, may very well be deadlier than anything you have ever encountered before."

Ereinion nodded solemnly. He understood the fact that, in spite of the fact that this was a beautiful place, it had its own dangers, as well. It seemed that Sinag-Tala was very knowledgeable of these dangers, and so she was the perfect guide for their journey through.

Sinag-Tala returned his nod. "That is all I can tell you. Is there anything else you wish to ask?"

"Yes," Telpeär replied. "Who is this friend we are going to visit?"

"His name is Magtìr Teididh. He is a fine warrior, one of the most respected in Rûmenyen. He was born and bred there, and though he lives now as a hermit, distancing himself from the affairs of that nation, his knowledge of the people there is still quite considerable. If you wish to find someone in that country, he is the one to ask."

"Then it is settled," Ereinion said quietly. He smiled at Sinag-Tala. "We are very grateful for the aid you are about to provide us, Sinag-Tala."

The young woman smiled, and bowed her head slightly. "You are welcome, Ereinion." Her smile wavered slightly. "It was what my father would have done."

"Well then," Glorfindel said cheerily, cutting into the silence that had settled in, "now that all our questions have been answered, shall we return to the house? We must prepare for our journey on the morrow."

Ereinion was glad that Glorfindel had chosen that moment to distract Sinag-Tala, because he did not like seeing the mortal so sad.

He shook his head discreetly then, and wondered what was wrong with him. Perhaps it is just that we are so similar, he thought, and latched onto that idea.

Yes, it was just that, he was certain of it.

It had to be.


	17. Chapter 16: A Different Dawn

**Chapter Sixteen: A Different Dawn**

The darkest hours of the night were always the coolest, and the most desolate. Isil had already disappeared from the sky, making room for the arrival of Anar. Only Varda's lights lay strewn across the deep dome of the sky, their brightness reflected by the still, shadowy waters of the sea.

He did not sleep at all that night. It was not that he was not tired – his body was crying out for rest, tempted by the pallet that lay waiting for him inside the wooden house should he choose to go in and accept its comforting warmth. But he resisted the urges of his body, disciplining himself to ignore its complaints, as he had done so often long ago, when Beleriand had not sunk into the sea, when he was still a soldier and a great Lord amongst the Eldar.

Maedhros sighed, not for the power that had once been his, but for the memories of times long gone. He missed the companionship of his friends, and to a certain extent, his family as well. He had never been close to all of them – that was an impossible task – but he had always been close to Maglor, and to the twins. He felt so protective of these three: since Maglor came after him, he had been the first to be put under Maedhros' responsibility. Amrod and Amras were the youngest, so as the eldest he had always felt a certain degree of responsibility towards them.

I could easily do away with the trappings of power, as long as I can have peace like this, he thought as he stared at the wide expanse of ocean that seemed to stretch on into eternity. Why did one need power, when one could have this stillness, this tranquility? Power only complicated matters, destroyed the serenity of one's world. It was not a necessary part of one's life. One could do away with it and still live a good life.

"Have you been awake all through the night?"

Maedhros turned, and watched as Sinag-Tala emerged from the shadowy darkness of the house. He smiled at her as she sat down beside him. "I had thought that you would be asleep, as well."

"It is already morning," she pointed out to him, returning his smile with one of her own. "I always wake at this hour, to wait for the arrival of Inang A'raw, so that I may greet her and thank her for bringing her light into the world once more."

Maedhros nodded, and turned away from her. With his Elvish sight, he could see a hairline of light beginning to form on the distant horizon. Of course, he knew Sinag-Tala would not be able to see it, so he did not mention it to her.

They sat together in companionable silence, and Maedhros was only too glad that she did not ask him any further questions. He did not feel like speaking, fearing that words would rend the stillness that had settled upon them and that brought him so much peace.

The horizon gradually became lighter, the light sliding lazily over the vastness of the sea. The wall of the reef stood out starkly over the water – a long, black line that could easily rip out the bellies of ships that dared sail too close. He still did not know at what hour was the tide at its highest and thus the safest for ships to sail into the reef, for he was not able to see Sinag-Tala's people bring their ship in, and he did not ask the question of anyone.

And then, the quiet waters in the middle of the reef were disturbed as a dolphin leaped out of the water, its slick, shiny body arching and seeming to hang in midair before it descended back into the water with a splash.

Maedhros had held his breath as he watched the sight. He had seen dolphins jump before, but not under these circumstances. He suddenly wanted to laugh, to run into the water and join the dolphins in their gaiety.

"They are beautiful, are they not?"

Maedhros glanced at Sinag-Tala, and noticed that she was smiling as she gazed out upon the water. Seeing her smile, he allowed himself to smile as well. "Yes, I find them very beautiful."

"They love children," she said, as if it was the most natural thing to say at that moment. "They are the ones who teach the children how to swim. And they can lift the spirits of anyone – so long as one has the will to live."

Maedhros had to agree. "You are right." He bowed his head. "I… There are many dark things in my heart, and the road ahead of me is darker still. I would redeem myself, and my-" He swallowed, pausing, and then continued: "I would redeem myself and those I love, but it is a long road, and a hard one. I do not know where to begin."

He lifted his eyes, and found Sinag-Tala gazing at him, her gray eyes so like to Maglor's in the light of the rising sun that he thought, for a moment, he was looking at his brother again, during the days when he had often sought his second brother's counsel. But then more of the night shadows lifted, and he saw a woman – a woman who had her own pains and fears and shadows, yet ignored them because she had to put others before herself.

He did not know that she had clasped his hand in one of her own until he forced himself to come out of his reverie and listen to what she was saying. He looked up at her, and noticed the small smile on her face, though her eyes were lit with curiosity – and concern. "Would you like to swim with the dolphins?"

He blinked at her, unable, for a moment, to grasp what she had just said. "Swim with the dolphins?"

"Yes. I think you would enjoy it." Her smile became a little wider. "Some play may help lift that melancholy I see in your eyes."

"But I am not-"

"That does not matter. Follow me."

He stayed seated, watching her in confusion and some helplessness as she strode to the water's edge, walking right into the sea without a care for her clothing. And yet the sea did not repulse her, the waves did not push her back to shore. The water welcomed her, wrapping itself around her like a mother wrapping her child in blankets to guard against the cold of the night.

The water climbed higher up her body the further she walked, until it was well around her waist. She reached for a pouch at her waist, and drew out a shell around as long as her palm. She lifted one end to her lips, and blew. A high, trilling note that echoed the voices of seabirds rose to the sky, and a few moments later, a dolphin broke the surface of the water, spinning around once in the air before landing in the water again with a mighty splash that soaked Sinag-Tala completely.

He listened to her laughter, and it called him, lured him to join her. It has been too long, he thought as he reached down to remove his boots. It had been too long since he had allowed himself to laugh, to indulge in a childhood that had been taken away from him far too quickly, because he was a Son of Fëanor, because he was the eldest of seven brothers.

He strode to the water's edge confidently enough, but the moment his bare toes touched the surf he halted in fear. Would the water push him back, as so many had done before? Would he be forced out of the sea? He remembered again the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, and at the same time, the fact that this was a place sacred to Uinen. She had been fond of the Teleri. Would the water, at her command, push him out and back onto land?

But then, Sinag-Tala clambered out of the water towards him, grabbed his hand, and pulled him in.

He tripped over the soft sand under the water and splashed, belly-first. But it did not force him away; it did not push him back to shore. Rather, it embraced him, and he felt a freedom that he thought he had lost long ago.

He forced his head up above the surface of the water, gulping in air, and felt Sinag-Tala grasp him by the arm to pull him to his feet. He glanced down at himself, and realized, much to his amusement, that he was dripping wet, and most likely looked very, very silly.

Grinning now, he turned his attentions to Sinag-Tala, who, grinning in the same manner he was, slapped the surface of the water with the palm of her hand, causing a splash that got saltwater in his eyes.

He gasped, not out of pain, but out of playful shock. Pushing his soggy hair out of his face with one hand, he retaliated by swatting more water at Sinag-Tala with the other.

She uttered a cry of surprise, and gave back as good as she received, using both hands now to spray water at him. Later on, one of the dolphins emerged beside her, and the creature used its tail fin to slap water onto his person.

In spite of the water that was obscuring his vision, he reached out, and touched the dolphin that floated beside Sinag-Tala. The skin was cool and slippery under his fingers, not slimy and rough like the scales of a fish. The dolphin turned, and gazed at him with eyes full of understanding, and what seemed to be a perpetually cheerful smile.

He turned when Sinag-Tala placed her hand on his shoulder. When he turned his head to look at her, she smiled, and said: "Let your shadows go. Let the sea wash you clean, and take them far away. Take joy in the simple pleasures of life again."

It felt as if he had stepped under a waterfall, and he had emerged from beneath it clean and new. He felt the burdens and the shadows lifted from his soul, the waves washing them away. And now, he could start upon the road with a new purpose, and clearer vision.

He grinned impishly at Sinag-Tala, and tackled her into the water, glad to be laughing, glad to be able to feel like a child again. The dolphins sang and chattered in their own tongue, leaping and tracing sinuous circles in the growing light.

And when Arien finally burst forth into the eastern sky, she was greeted not by chanting, but by the music of laughter, shouts, and dolphin voices that, for a single, brilliant moment, parted the dark clouds of war and allowed Anar's light to shine true and pure upon the land.

* * *

He frowned, the shadows still wrapped around him, for Inang A'raw was not high enough yet in the sky to lift all the shadows from between the trees. He did not like what was going on before him. If the strangers became too attached to Sinag-Tala, then they would surely protect her on their journey out of the jungles. And he certainly did not want anyone protecting Sinag-Tala – not when he now had the perfect opportunity to be rid of her once and for all.

He glanced over his shoulder at his sons, who stood behind him in attention. He smiled slightly. They were both fine warriors, intelligent and cunning in their own right. They would make the perfect leaders once Sinag-Tala was gone.

"I want you to follow them as closely as you can," he told them, his voice low to make sure that no one heard him, in case someone else was around. He could not risk having Talim or Hiraya hear him, not when he was so close to getting what he wanted. "Take your time, do not hurry in your task. It must look like an accident. I do not want her…friends…becoming suspicious."

The two young men nodded in obedience, and turned around, disappearing into shadows of the trees.

He smiled satisfactorily. It would not be long now, he thought. Revenge would soon be his.

* * *

Glorfindel watched with a small grin as Maedhros and Sinag-Tala made their way back into the house, the both of them laughing and dripping water all over the wooden floor. Some of the weight on his heart was eased a little bit when he noticed the bright smile on Maedhros' face. He was relieved that the darkness that surrounded the red-haired Elda had been lifted somewhat, though it would take some time until it was dispersed completely.

Still, it was a good thing that he was smiling now. Fingon would have been pleased to see him happy again.

"And where have you been this early in the morning?" Glorfindel asked as the pair approached where he was standing. He frowned slightly at them, though he could not help the small curl of his lips in amusement.

Maedhros quickly suppressed his laughter, and straightened up, trying to look as dignified as his soggy condition would allow. "We have been swimming with the dolphins."

Glorfindel nodded, now unable to conceal his amusement. "I see. And why did you do so?" This time, he focused his gaze on Sinag-Tala.

The young woman smiled up at him, and Glorfindel realized that, indeed, Ereinion had been right about her: she looked so young when she was smiling, almost childlike. "And I respond with a question: does there need to be a reason? It is a harmless thing. I do not think that one needs to question something if it is harmless."

Maedhros smirked now at Glorfindel. Apparently he agreed with Sinag-Tala's reasoning.

The former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower rolled his eyes, and threw his hands up in the air. "You have won, dear lady. And yet I must ask: at what hour do we begin our journey?"

The mirth suddenly faded from Sinag-Tala's face at his words. She straightened up, and Glorfindel saw that she looked every inch the leader that she was – even if she _was_ soaking wet. "We leave in five hours. I know that there are some things that you must see to, and I too have business to attend to before we may set out on our journey."

Glorfindel nodded, seeing the wisdom and appreciating the fact that she had given them some time to prepare, though they had gathered most of their supplies together the day before. "I understand." He turned to Maedhros, and grinned. "I think it would be wise for you to change into something dry."

Maedhros rolled his eyes, though he was smiling, and nodded as he bowed, taking his leave of both Glorfindel and Sinag-Tala. With that accomplished, Glorfindel bowed to Sinag-Tala as well, and headed back to the room that had been assigned to him, preparing himself for the journey ahead.


	18. Chapter 17: Unexpected Shadows

**Chapter Seventeen: Unexpected Shadows**

The sun was warm against the nape of his neck, almost too warm as he heaved his arms to pull the blade of the axe out of the tree trunk that he had been chopping into for the better part of an hour already. He listened to the satisfying thump of iron against wood, waiting for the proper moment when the wood would start to creak – a sign that he had to get well out of the way, lest the tree come crashing down on top of him.

He allowed himself a small smile in satisfaction as he swiped a hand over his brow, wiping off the sweat that had collected there due to his exertions. He remembered the times before, when he had no need to do this, since the fire in his chambers was often maintained and prepared by his servants. Now, he appreciated the hard work that went into building a fire all the more.

He swung the axe one more time, and finally heard the much-awaited crack. He walked backwards rapidly, moving out of the way, and watched as the tree finally collapsed, the weight of its branches dragging it to the ground, where it landed with an immense thud.

He paused, closing his eyes as he murmured a prayer of thanksgiving and relief. He set aside his axe, and picked up the saw that he had brought with him. He worked somewhat slowly, but steadily, as he stripped off the leaves and foliage of the tree and was left with bare branches – enough to provide him with kindling for the next few months or more.

Gathering as many twigs and branches as he could, he placed them in the wicker basket he had brought with him, and started heading back to his cottage. He would store the kindling in the driest corner of his home, and after doing so, he would make trips over the next several days to cut the log down to size, cutting it down to manageable pieces so that they could be used for his fire, or for repairing whatever needed to be repaired in his home.

While some small part of him missed the intellectual and cosmopolitan lifestyle he used to have in Rûmenyen, he also had to admit that he enjoyed the peaceful way of life that he had come to know, living away from the city center. It gave him the stillness he had so often craved, and it gave him the chance to do what he wanted, when he wanted. Making a journey to Yaminah every six months or so to buy books and other such things could easily satisfy his intellectual leanings – the immense market in Yaminah often sold scrolls and codices from both in Khemet and in Rûmenyen.

He would have to visit Yaminah again soon, but it would not be because of his usual six-month trip to the market. The growing tensions between Khemet and Umbar had not escaped his attentions, and the stories that Anna had told him, of increasingly frequent and violent border skirmishes, confirmed his suspicions.

It would not be long now, he thought, his brow knitting together. There would be a war, and it would drag Rûmenyen and even peaceful Ma'yi into the conflict. The Umbarians would not be content with Khemet alone – they would want to expand their territory to occupy as much as they could of the South and East. If Khemet was unable to withstand their force, he was almost certain that all the other nations would fall. The Ma'yen were not familiar with the concept of war outside of their borders, and their tactics would be of no help against the Umbarians. As for Rûmenyen…

He frowned. A war was the last thing the Empire needed. While he could count on Xin to rule well during times of peace, he doubted if he would be able to handle a country at war.

Perhaps Wei is right, he thought as he placed the basket down on the ground beside his door. Perhaps he _should_ go back. He was needed in the Empire; his expertise in war tactics would be important if ever Khemet fell – though he hoped that the gods would not allow that to happen.

He stopped suddenly in the middle of the kitchen, sensing that something was not right. He looked around, taking in the layout of the area. Everything was as it had been when he had left early that morning. Even the thin layer of dust at the top of one of the shelves was undisturbed. Nothing had been touched.

No, he thought, there _was_ something here. He slid his eyes half-closed, and focused on cloaking his energy, while at the same time, casting around to find the presence of others.

It did not take him long. In a few moments, he sensed a hot, fiery presence – the aura of a Fire mage. He broke off from the spell, and whirled around to face the source of the aura.

Wei Ting Kuoh was standing there, looking at him with a serious expression on her face.

"Wei!" Magtò sighed in relief, before he smiled at her. "Why have you come?"

She sighed, and bowed her head. "Magtò, there is something that I wish to say to you."

The smile disappeared immediately from his face. There was something wrong here, but he could not pinpoint, exactly, what it was. "Wei?"

She looked up at him, her eyes dark and moist with tears. "I am sorry, Magtò. Please forgive me."

He sensed the sharp crackle of energy from behind him. He whirled around, and came face-to-face with a young woman – a Water mage, judging from the blue light around her. He had no time to even counter; the spell was already resting on her hand when he faced her.

The Water mage reached out to touch him, her fingers resting on his arm. Lethargy washed over him like a gentle wave, and before he knew it, he had fallen into the tight embrace of sleep.

* * *

The frog stared back at him with large, inquisitive eyes. Its body was of a color he had never seen before: black mottled with stripes of green, and the slick skin gave it a jewel-like sheen in the waning daylight. He found the creature quite charming, and reached out to touch it.

"If I were you, I would not touch that frog with bare hands, Telpeär."

Telpeär glanced up at Sinag-Tala, puzzled. "And why would that be, Sinag? It is only a frog, not a snake or a spider."

The young woman smiled as she approached him, leaving her place at the head of their group to stand beside him. She spared a momentary glance for the green-and-black tree frog, and answered: "Because the frog secretes a poison through its skin. We use that poison for our darts and arrows, but even we know never to touch them when we catch them."

The frog in question uttered a musical croak, before it climbed up into the branches above.

Telpeär, seeing what he had just narrowly avoided, recoiled as if he had been bitten, causing Sinag-Tala to laugh quietly, and pat him in a reassuring manner, before she returned to the head of their group, and nodded towards the forest ahead of them. "Come, let us move on."

Telpeär nodded, falling in step behind Ecthelion and in front of Glorfindel as they continued on their journey through the Jungles of Harad. They had been traveling for four days now, and the other side was nowhere in sight yet. While Sinag-Tala had assured them that she would lead them through the shortest and safest paths, sometimes those two words did not coincide, especially if, during the night watch, someone had caught sight of ocelots, jaguars, or panthers – gigantic felines that prowled through the thick underbrush for deer and large birds.

"I did not realize that the creatures here were as dangerous as they have turned out to be," Glorfindel remarked, looking up at the sky suspiciously every time he heard the chirping croak of a frog. "First many-legged red fire worms (1); then poisonous snakes which disguise themselves as vines; and now frogs covered in a venomous slime. Is there not any creature here that does _not_ pose a threat to one's well-being?"

Sinag-Tala laughed as she continued walking ahead of them. "Not all things are deadly, Glorfindel. Some of them, like the vipers and the fire worms, can indeed be hazardous to one's health, but there are some creatures that can be beneficial. We use the leeches we find in the streams, for instance, to draw out blood from an infected wound. And the frogs, as I have said, provide our hunters with an invaluable aid in hunting. We would not be able to bring down our game efficiently enough if it were not for the poison we extract from the frogs."

Ereinion winced at the mention of leeches. "I find the frogs rather beautiful at a distance, Sinag-Tala. And while I understand the necessity of leechcraft, I do not see why you would find them so interesting outside of a situation that requires them."

Telpeär snickered, hearing Glorfindel and Ecthelion echo his reaction, as a memory from the day before returned to them:

_"By the Valar!"_

_Telpeär looked up from where he had been attending to the cooking pot, startled by the rather…anxious cry that had been uttered from the stream not that far away. "Who was that?"_

_Maedhros, who had just come back from the stream and was currently re-braiding his hair, cocked his head to one side, listened for a moment, and when the same voice bellowed in frustration, he blinked. "That was Ereinion."_

_Telpeär was about to open his mouth to wonder what was wrong, but he was taken somewhat by surprise when first Ecthelion's laughter, and then Glorfindel's, burst through the cooling twilight air. He was perplexed by this reaction, and when he glanced at Maedhros he saw that the Noldo was just as puzzled as he was._

_Their curiosity was satisfied when Ereinion, being assisted by Sinag-Tala, came into the clearing, with Ecthelion and Glorfindel still snickering behind them._

_The former High-King scowled blackly as he tried to look over his shoulder, while at the same time walking forward, making for a rather amusing sight. "It is **not **in the least bit funny."_

_"But it is only three leeches," Glorfindel replied, and promptly dissolved in a fit of laughter._

_Telpeär blinked. Leeches? What were they talking about? He noticed then that Ereinion seemed to be favoring his right leg. When Telpeär looked, he saw three fat, shiny objects attached to the flesh. As Ereinion drew closer to the light of the fire, he realized that those things were, in fact, large leeches._

Ereinion sat down carefully on the ground, staring long and hard at the worm-like things that were attached to his leg. He glared across the fire at Sinag-Tala, who seemed to be busily poking at the fire. "You would have done well to inform me that there were leeches in that stream, Sinag-Tala."

_The young woman looked at him, her brown eyes wide and seemingly innocent in the glow of the flames. "But I had assumed that you knew, Ereinion. I am certain that, in your youth, you swam in streams and rivers. Are there no leeches in the rivers and streams where you are from?"_

_"There are, I am certain, but they never seemed to grow as large as these."_

_Sinag-Tala threw her head back, and laughed aloud, the sound carrying to the sky. "Forgive me, then, for neglecting to inform you of the size of the leeches here in the South." She reached over to the base of the fire, and drew out her knife, the blade of which she had been heating in the embers._

_Telpeär raised an eyebrow at the red-hot iron blade. "What do you intend to do with that?"_

_"Remove the leeches from Ereinion's leg," Sinag-Tala replied matter-of-factly. She turned to the Elf-lord, who was now reclining on the ground with his legs outstretched. She offered him a comforting smile as she approached. "Come now, it is not that bad."_

_Ereinion glared at her, though it seemed to be half-hearted, if the small smirk curling on his mouth was any indication of that. "And do you speak from experience?"_

_"Yes, I do. I used to fish a lot in the streams when I was younger, and to get to the better fishing spots I had to wade in shallow water. Of course, that made my legs excellent targets for the leeches. Sometimes I would stand for a long time, and I would end up with more than three leeches on my legs." _

_Sinag-Tala lightly placed her free hand against Ereinion's leg, and applied the smoldering hot tip of the knife to one of the leeches. The creature squirmed and wriggled, and then dropped to the ground. With deft fingers, Sinag-Tala snatched the creature up by the tail, and threw it in the general direction of the stream. She repeated the same process with the two other leeches, and soon there was nothing left to indicate their presence, except the three bloody rings that marked where the leeches had been attached to Ereinion's flesh._

_She smiled satisfactorily, looking up at Ereinion as she did so. "There, now. That was not so bad, was it?"_

_Ereinion smiled at her, shaking his head. "No, I suppose not."_

_"Good." She reached for her satchel, and brought out a clay jar. She reached into the jar with her fingertips, and carefully smoothed some honey over the wounds. "Wash the honey off when the wounds stop stinging," she told Ereinion as she replaced the cork of the jar, and placed it back in her satchel. "After you do, inform me so that I can wrap them in some bandages."_

_Ecthelion cocked his head slightly to one side as he attended to the cooking pot over the fire. "They are only small wounds, Sinag-Tala. I do not understand why you must bind them."_

_Sinag-Tala frowned thoughtfully as she returned to her place beside the fire. "It is not wise to leave wounds uncovered in the jungle. The risk of infection is far too great out here, and also, there are creatures that are attracted to the smell of blood, and will not hesitate to make a meal out of us if they smell it."_

Telpeär noted a thread of anxiety in Sinag-Tala's voice, and it made him wonder what manner of creature precisely made her so worried. However, he did not bother to ask, not really wanting to know beforehand.

Just then, their little convoy came to a halt. Telpeär looked up, and noticed that they were now standing in a clearing ringed all around by the green, slender stalks of bamboo trees. It was apparent that the clearing had been used before, and frequently at that, if the ring of blackened stones sitting in the middle of the clearing were any indication.

"We shall make camp here for the night," Sinag-Tala announced as she lowered her satchel to the ground.

As during the previous nights, they settled into doing specific tasks. While Sinag-Tala went off to bring back some food before it got too dark, the rest of them set about to making camp, most of their time devoted to building the fire. Branches seemed to be surprisingly scarce here, though kindling in the form of fallen leaves was plentiful, and they sometimes had to range far from the campsite in order to bring back branches large enough to use as firewood.

Fortunately, however, they did not have to go far this time, or even to work hard, at that: Ecthelion found a small bundle of dried bamboo hidden in the crevice of a boulder, and they used that as their firewood. Sinag-Tala came back just in time, carrying with her six pheasants that were smaller than the ones in the North and in the Undying Lands, but with delicious flesh and fine plumage. Sinag-Tala took the feathers, which she used to fletch the darts made of bone or wood – whichever of the two was on-hand at the moment.

"How much longer until we reach the edge of the jungle?" Ereinion asked, after he had disposed of the bones of his pheasant by burying them in a small hole some distance away from their main camp.

Sinag-Tala paused, glanced up at the sky, and furrowed her brows. A moment later, she responded: "We should get there by late morning the day after tomorrow." She smiled as she looked at them all. "We have made relatively good progress. Some of the younger warriors cannot keep the pace that we have maintained through these past days."

Glorfindel smiled, and winked at her. "They say that it is not wise to keep a lady waiting. We merely try our best not to do so with you."

Ecthelion glared at him, though Sinag-Tala merely laughed. Apparently she was used to Glorfindel's attempts to flirt with her. "The last time I traveled this quickly was when my father first took me out to see the world."

* * *

Ecthelion turned to look at Sinag-Tala, a little surprised by her statement. How could she and her father have made the same progress as they had – if her father was not an Elf?

He shook that thought out of his mind. No, he was being ridiculous. Sinag-Tala had said so herself: her father was from Dol Amroth, hence, he could not be an Elf, least of all the one they were looking for. Perhaps it was because the Men of Dol Amroth, due to their Elven heritage, had also inherited the Elves' stamina. That would not have surprised him.

"When was this?" Ereinion inquired.

Sinag-Tala shrugged, and poked at the fire with the stick she had roasted her pheasant on. "It was a year before he died. My mother thought I was too young to go, but my father insisted, and he promised that he would protect me. He said that he wanted to teach me as much as he could of what he knew, before it was too late." She paused, biting her lip, before adding: "He seemed so sad, those last few days. Sometimes I saw him smile, and laugh, and I knew that everything was all right, but there were also times when his eyes would simply-" She shook her head, and said nothing further.

In some small way, Ecthelion felt for her. The greatness of the love she bore for her father and her mother was evident, and it was clear to him that she had taken on the responsibilities of leadership with that in mind. There was something carefree about her that seemed to say she would rather be doing things at her leisure, enjoying her youth, but duty had been thrust upon her at an early age, and, because she knew it was what her parents would have expected of her, she rose to the challenge and accepted what had been placed before her.

She has lost so much of her youth to duty, he mused sadly. He knew that all of them, even Ereinion, had had time to enjoy their youth. It was something that they could all look back on with happiness, if with a bit of regret occasionally.

But Sinag-Tala did not seem to have had much chance at that. At twenty summers she was still quite young, even by the standards of Men, and had taken up the mantle of leadership at an even younger age. Though it was true that she had allowed regents to rule in her stead immediately after her parents' death, she had learned her lessons quickly, and was able to rule her people at the age of fourteen. At that age, young mortal women were only beginning to learn how to be women, and what it was like to be in love. Sinag-Tala had not known those things, and instead learned all about politics and intrigue.

It was an admirable thing, and Ecthelion was very aware of that. There were very few, mortal or immortal, who would have had the strength of character to do what she had done. Instead of escaping for a time and returning when she was ready, she had learned as quickly as she could, and accepted her parents' legacy as soon as she had learned enough to do so.

And yet, it was a sad thing that she had not yet known the joys and pleasures that come with being young. She was no longer young; she had grown old in less time than it takes for a mortal to do so.

There was a soft crackle as she tossed her stick into the fire, and he watched as she stood up, and stretched. "It is growing late," she murmured. "I will take first watch."

"I will go on watch with you," Ecthelion said then, standing up as well and stretching.

Sinag-Tala looked at him, puzzled. "Are you certain?" she asked. "You might wish to rest."

He smiled at her, and shook his head. "I am well, Sinag-Tala. And two pairs of eyes are always better than one, especially on a night as dark as this."

The young woman held his gaze for a while, and the silver of her eyes brought to mind an image of Maglor when he was in a rather thoughtful mood. After a moment, she said, "If that is what you wish, I have no objections."

* * *

She always found the night sounds of the jungle a familiar comfort. Her mother told her once, that the whole world plays a melody at all times, though it can be heard only by the very attentive and the very patient.

Over the years, Sinag-Tala liked to think that she had learned to listen to this melody that her mother had spoken of to her. For her, the melody of the sea was the most beautiful, because the waters sang of things that she had never seen before, things that she would, perhaps, never have the chance to lay eyes upon. With the ocean, no tune was ever the same, mimicking the shifting surface of the water.

The jungle, on the other hand, was the opposite of the sea. It sang of constancy, of things growing and dying, and of life repeating established cycles everyday, every moon, and every year. It sang of how living things will live and die, only to have the earth renew and purify them that they may return in the next cycle, to repeat the process all over again.

"These forests speak of different things from the forests that I know."

Sinag-Tala did not take her eyes away from the dark fastness before her. "What do you mean, Ecthelion?"

She sensed her silver-haired companion shift slightly, but not much, and like her, he did not take his gaze away from the shadows of the jungle. "These trees speak, in their own way, of their lives. They have never known the cold touch of snow, but they are familiar – all too familiar – with the lash of violent rainstorms, and the crackle of lightning." He paused for a moment, and then continued, "Are the storms really so terrible here, Sinag-Tala?"

"They can get quite violent," Sinag-Tala replied with a nod, "but we have learned to adjust. As you may have noticed, the only permanent structures that we have erected are our houses, and those are easy to repair should they get damaged in a storm." She lightly patted the trunk of a bamboo tree beside her. "Apo Maya always said: be as the bamboo, that bends its back when the wind of adversity blows hardest, resisting only enough to remain undamaged, but standing tall and whole at the end of the storm."

Ecthelion smiled. "An excellent proverb. Your people are wise."

"Yes, after a fashion." She sighed. "But I fear that words and proverbs may not last us through this war. We may be as the bamboo, but sometimes, there are storms that uproot even the most flexible of nodes."

She sensed, rather than saw, Ecthelion's change of expression. "You are right," he said softly. "This war… It will be a great and bloody one, perhaps very much like the old wars of the North that is now gone."

Sinag-Tala inclined her head. "Wars of the North… My father spoke of them sometimes, of ancient tales and legends, of mighty kings and queens, and fair princesses who defeated Dark Lords." She shook her head. "I do not remember the names anymore. They are all part of a distant memory."

"Were they the tales of your childhood?"

"Yes and no. My mother often told me stories of our people, but I listened to my father's stories when I was too old to be sent to sleep on the wings of my mother's tales." She smiled slightly at the memory. "Sometimes, Father and I would stay up late into the night, he, simply telling tale after tale, and I would be there to listen."

"And-" Suddenly, Ecthelion fell silent.

Sinag-Tala could immediately sense the tension in her companion. "What is it?" she asked, her voice dropping down almost to a whisper, for fear of being heard and alerting anyone – or anything – that had come to their camp.

"There is something in the trees…" She sensed him leaving his position. "I will go and alert the others."

She could not hear his footsteps as he walked away from her, but she did sense his presence departing from her immediate area. In the meantime, she discreetly picked up her bow, and nocked an arrow – just to be sure. If something were to come from the trees, she would need to be able to aim and shoot quickly.

When she heard and saw nothing, she started to shift slowly, trying to keep her movements to a minimum. It was several heartbeats before she was crouched on her knees – a stable position, good enough for shooting a bow. She slowly lifted her arms, and tilted them towards the treetops.

And then, the presence was gone just as quickly and suddenly as it had arrived.

She relaxed, allowing the tension in her body to bleed out of her gradually. She listened to her heartbeat as it dropped in rhythm, until it was as steady as the ponderous thundering of the waves in the unknown caverns of the reef. She closed her eyes, and focused her energy, trying to sense the flicker of a living creature – whatever it may have been.

For a very brief moment, she thought she managed to catch what felt like a person – someone she knew, someone she was familiar with. And then, before she could grasp it completely, it was gone.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, the touch like the shock of hot water on her skin. She whirled around, and relaxed only when she realized that it was Ereinion, gazing at her with a concerned expression on his face.

"Are you well?" he asked, his voice soft. "Ecthelion told us that there was something in the trees."

Sinag-Tala nodded in response to his question, and then said: "Yes, he sensed something in the trees, much earlier than I did, and he went to warn you. It is gone now, and I do not know where it went."

Maedhros approached her then, and his face was serious. "What do you think it was, then?"

She fell silent then, unable to answer that question. What _had_ it been, she wondered, and why had its presence felt so much like someone she knew?

At length, she raised her head, and shrugged. "I do not know what it was." She turned her gaze away, and looked instead at the glowing embers of the fire. "Whatever it may have been, though, it is gone now."

"Perhaps it would be best if we built the fire up again," Glorfindel suggested. "A blazing fire is one of the best defenses against wild animals."

Sinag-Tala nodded, and proceeded to help in building their dying bonfire up again, but deep in her heart, the voice of her intuition told her that whatever had attempted to intrude upon their camp would not be so easily scared away by fire, no matter how hot or how bright it might be.

* * *

(1) This is a reference to the giant, poisonous centipedes that are particularly prolific in the tropics.


End file.
